


Exceeding the Mandate

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, F/M, Obidala, Prequels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:23:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 58,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi takes Padmé to Naboo. Her guide, her protector, the handsome Jedi for whom she falls is not Anakin Skywalker. Things quickly tumble out of control for the stalwart rule-follower and his jealous apprentice.





	1. Chapter 1

“Chancellor, please! I don’t want any more guards!” Padmé Amidala flashed Chancellor Palpatine a look of desperation, and the gray-haired man’s face was almost kind for a moment as he conceded,

“I realise all too well that additional security might be disruptive for you, but perhaps someone you are familiar with... an old friend like... Master Kenobi…” Palpatine turned his face to Mace Windu, and the Jedi nodded in response. Padmé frowned at the mention of the name. It had been ten years since she had seen Master Kenobi and his young student. She had wondered, once in a while, what had become of them. Now, it seemed, she might find out. 

“That's possible,” Mace Windu was saying to Chancellor Palpatine. “He has just returned from a border dispute on Ansion.”

For some reason, Padmé was a bit disturbed by the thought of Obi-Wan Kenobi in combat. It had been many years, and she had only been a young girl, but she could still see the sandy-haired Jedi Knight with his shimmering lightsaber in her mind. He had been handsome and young then, in his mid-twenties. He would be older now, she realized. Would he still be handsome?

Padmé shoved those ludicrous thoughts from her mind and scolded herself. There were far more important things at stake now then whether or not Master Kenobi had stayed handsome over the last ten years. The security of the galaxy had no room for her girlish distractions.

“You must remember him, M'Lady,” Palpatine was droning toward Padmé, and she jolted back to attention. “He watched over you during the blockade conflict.”

Padmé felt her eyebrows fly up. How could she possibly forget Master Kenobi and the little boy who had tagged along at his side?  _ Yes, of course I remember them, _ she wanted to exclaim. Instead, she swallowed hard and calmly insisted, “This is not necessary, Chancellor.”

“Do it for me, M'Lady, please. I will rest easier. We had a big scare today. The thought of losing you is unbearable.” There was something off in the way Chancellor Palpatine said those words, but Padmé ignored her unease for the time being and nodded at last. If the worst thing that came of this madness, of the attempt on her life that had killed an innocent decoy, was seeing a few old friends, then so be it.

  
  


Of all the foolish things Anakin Skywalker had said in the past ten years, Obi-Wan was convinced this was among the most foolish.

He was in love with a girl he hadn’t seen in a decade. Anakin had said as much in the turbolift, when he’d been profusely sweating and shifting on his feet, when he’d insisted that he’d spent every day for the past ten years thinking of Padmé Amidala. If that was true, Obi-Wan reckoned, it was foolish, too. Jedi were not permitted attachments or marriages. In any case, the last time Anakin had seen Padmé, he had been a boy of nine years and she had been a queen. If Anakin had indeed spent the last ten years perseverating on the girl, it had only been because he’d had so little other fodder for his pubescent mind.

Obi-Wan could empathize. Really, he could. He well remembered the days under his own master when he’d been lonely at night and discouraged by the idea of lifetime of solitude. There had been a few beautiful women who had entered his mind and stayed there for a long while, women who had fueled dreams and worse. And in the past ten years, Anakin had gone from a squeaky-voiced boy to a stern-faced young man. It was only natural that he might remember the pretty, smart girl who had been there when he’d left home.

Anakin was taking it all a bit too far, though, and Obi-Wan felt compelled to remind his Padawan of that as they approached Padmé’s apartments.

“We are here to protect the Senator, not to woo her, Anakin. You will remember that,” Obi-Wan said firmly, watching as Anakin’s lips tightened into his characteristic defiant expression.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin said flatly, and Obi-Wan gave the boy a skeptical smirk. As the door at the end of the hallway slid open, the two of them were assaulted by the boundless enthusiasm of a certain Gungan they hadn’t seen in years.

“Obi! Obi-Obi-Obi! Boy, is mesa smilen’ to see’en yousa! And… your apprentice? Hmm..?” Jar Jar Binks gasped then and jumped with exaggerated motions as he processed what the years had done to the small boy from their last meeting. Beside Obi-Wan, Anakin gave a shrewd smile and prepared himself for the way Jar Jar Binks wrapped his enormous arms around him in a tight embrace and exclaimed, “Ani! Little, teensy, tiny Ani? Nooo! Yousa so biggen, yousa has becommen!  _ Yiyiyi! _ ”

Sensing Anakin’s acute discomfort with the Gungan’s over-the-top affection and enthusiasm, Obi-Wan reached out and put a gentle hand on Jar Jar’s shoulder.

“Jar Jar, we’re very happy to see you, too,” he said reassuringly. “We’ve come to speak with Senator Amidala. Would you be so kind as to take us to her?”

Jar Jar clapped his hands to his duck-billed mouth as though he’d just remembered something important, and he rambled on in his strange wording as he dragged  _ tiny Ani _ and  _ Obi-Obi-Obi _ into the Senator’s apartments.

Obi-Wan was not surprised to see the way Anakin reacted to the sight of Padmé. The boy’s jaw dropped as though he was seeing food after weeks of starvation. His boots dragged a bit on the ground as he seemed confused as to whether he should run to the girl or stay frozen where he stood. Anakin’s fists clenched at his sides and relaxed, and his eyes went wide and round as he stared with hunger at Senator Amidala.

It would have been very amusing, except that a tiny part of Obi-Wan could see where the appeal lay for his young apprentice. In the ten years since he’d last seen Padmé Amidala, she’d grown from a gangly and rather awkward teenager into a graceful young woman. She was slight and statuesque at the same time, where once she had possessed the body of a girl just edging on adulthood. Her features had sharpened, perhaps because of what she’d seen and done and perhaps from age. Probably it had been a bit of both. It didn’t matter. She was much prettier now than Obi-Wan remembered her being, and it struck him in a way that was rather uncomfortable.

“Desa Jedi arriven!” Exclaimed Jar Jar, and somehow Obi-Wan gathered himself and straightened his spine as he stood before Senator Amidala.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, My Lady,” he greeted her, hearing an odd and rather embarrassing crack in his own voice. If the Senator noticed, she did made no outward indication. She took Obi-Wan’s hand in hers and smiled warmly, and Obi-Wan felt like recoiling from the unexpected sensation that all elicited. 

The corners of his mouth pulled down, and he struggled to keep his face impassive as Padmé Amidala flicked her eyes beyond him for a moment toward Anakin. Her expression was pleasant, but showed no recognition for the Padawan. Her hands squeezed Obi-Wan’s a bit more tightly, and her smile broadened as she said,

“Master Kenobi… How good it is to see you after all these years. I am so glad our paths have crossed again. But I feel guilty that you’ve come. It was not necessary, I assure you.”

Obi-Wan shrugged casually. “I’m sure the Jedi Council have their reasons.”

Padmé gave a reticent nod and released Obi-Wan’s hands. She stepped to the side, and Obi-Wan watched her glistening brown eyes narrow at the boy behind him. She finally clapped her hands before her, recognition washing over her as she curled up her mouth and said incredulously,

“Ani? Oh, Ani! It  _ is _ you! Goodness! You have grown into a proper man!”

Anakin cleared his throat rather roughly. “And… and  _ you _ , Senator, have grown more beautiful than ever. Shorter, though. You’ve… grown shorter. For a Senator.”

Obi-Wan scowled at his young Padawan. He could not blame Anakin for being mildly bewitched by Padmé’s beauty, but the boy was making a right fool of himself now. Obi-Wan pinched his lips and put his hands on his hips as Padmé giggled and scolded him,

“Oh, Ani. You’ll always be that silly little boy from Tatooine.”

Anakin looked scandalized and humiliated by that, but Padmé was apparently oblivious to the effect her words had had. 

Obi-Wan’s judgmental scowl lightened a bit as he watched Anakin’s cheeks go scarlet. He did not like to see the boy in such a state, no matter how much he might like to chastise his pupil just now and remind him of how Jedi were meant to behave.

“Rest assured, Senator Amidala, that our presence will be no trouble to you. We will be practically invisible.” Obi-Wan said that last bit just as much for Anakin as he did for Padmé, to make it clear to everyone involved in this arrangement that there would be no flirtation. It needed to be very obvious indeed just what everyone’s roles where and what the dynamic would be. Lives were at stake. There was no space for Anakin’s childish posturing now.

  
  


Yes. Obi-Wan Kenobi had stayed handsome over the past ten years.

Actually, he’d grown far more handsome. How was that, Padmé found herself wondering? How was it that the Jedi Knight had grown into his mid-thirties and had settled into a state of being almost achingly good-looking? Had his red-gold hair always been so silky, pushed effortlessly back from his face as though he’d dragged his fingers through it without a care? No, she knew. It had been cropped close with a hideous little braid all those years ago. Had his eyes always been such a vivid blue? Probably, though they stood out better now. He had been clean-shaven when last Padmé had seen him, and she found she liked him better with a beard. He was more striking this way. And he’d certainly grown more muscular, and -

_ Stop it, Padmé. _ She scolded herself inside her mind, knowing it was downright irresponsible to be ogling her new bodyguard as though he were a slab of fresh meat. He was a Jedi Knight, not some suitor for the taking. But Padmé had little control over the way her heart and stomach fluttered at the sight of him, and she was wholly unable to concentrate on Captain Typho’s words as he spoke to the Jedi.

“I’m very grateful that you’re here, Master Kenobi. The situation is more serious than the Senator will admit.”

“I do not need more security. I need answers.” Padmé shook her head firmly. She raised her eyes to Obi-Wan Kenobi and believed the words she’d said. It was a terrible idea to have this man lingering about her, she thought. It would only spell more danger if she was distracted by him. She fixed her posture and tipped up her chin as she spoke directly to Obi-Wan. “I want to know who’s trying to kill me. This is a matter that certainly concerns the Senate. There is something deeper here than -”

“With all respect, Senator, we have come to protect you, not to start an investigation,” Obi-Wan Kenobi pronounced very carefully. From beside him, his young Padawan blurted out,

“We will find out who’s trying to kill you, Padmé. I promise.”

Padmé frowned deeply toward Anakin Skywalker, surprised by the way he’d contradicted his Master and used her given name. She was not one to stand to highly on ceremony except where necessary, but it was obvious the boy had breached all manner of decorum with his words. Obi-Wan Kenobi flashed a wide-eyed glare toward his student and nearly snarled at him,

“We will not exceed our mandate, my  _ young _ Padawan learner.”

Anakin’s cheeks went red at once, and he dragged his thumb over his lower lip as he stared at his knees. His voice carried a bit of a tremor as he mumbled, “I only meant… as we go about protecting her, Master.”

Padmé tried not to look too surprised at the raucous exchange. Were not Jedi meant to be controlled beings? Anakin Skywalker, it seemed, was a volatile creature. She was not altogether surprised to learn this. He had been a short-tempered boy years earlier; it might be expected he would become a short-tempered young man. 

“We are not going through this exercise again, Anakin. You will obey my lead,” Obi-Wan Kenobi said firmly, and Padmé suddenly had the idea that Anakin Skywalker was a fambaa being whipped into submission. Anakin wasn’t taking the verbal beating easily, though. He raised his gaze to his master and said in a challenging tone,

“Why?”

“What?” Obi-Wan Kenobi’s mouth dropped open, and Padmé was tempted to simply stand up and walk from the room. It was profoundly awkward, all of a sudden, to witness the dynamics of a surly apprentice and his master. She cleared her throat a bit, to remind the men that she was there, and she shifted where she sat. Obi-Wan flicked his vibrant blue eyes to her, a look halfway between embarrassment and apology on his face before he turned back to Anakin. Then his eyes flashed with anger again, for Anakin Skywalker was speaking as though he had great authority on the matter.

“Why else do you suppose we were assigned to protect her, if not to track down the killer? She has many bodyguards; simple protection of this sort no deed for Jedi. It’s overkill, and so obviously it is implied in our mandate that we open an investigation into the assassination attempt.”

Obi-Wan’s face twitched strangely, and Padmé watched as his chest heaved a bit beneath his unadorned, beige tunic. “We will do precisely as the Council has commanded us… and you will learn your place, young one.”

Padmé was now physically uncomfortable in the conflict. Her skin crawled a bit and she struggled not to curl her lip up into a grimace. Instead, she sighed lightly and said in a diplomatic tone,

“Perhaps with merely your presence about me, the mysteries of this situation will reveal themselves. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall retire.” Padmé rose, and all present bowed respectfully as she began to walk from the apartments with her handmaiden Dormé in tow. She spared a final glance over her shoulder, not meaning to catch Obi-Wan Kenobi’s blue eyes with hers as she did. He seemed a bit embarrassed when their gazes locked, and his lips moved as though he meant to speak. But he said nothing, and Padmé just turned and kept walking.

Once they were in Padmé’s private quarters, Dormé lifted her heavy velvet overdress from her body, and Padmé changed herself into a white nightdress and a simple robe. She sat at her vanity and stared into the mirror as a cosmetic droid hovered around her. The droid pulled delicately at the cage-like device that bound her long hair, and Padmé dabbed at her makeup with a soaked sponge. Behind her, Dormé chewed her lip carefully, and Padmé said into the mirror,

“Say what it is you’re thinking, my friend.”

“M’Lady, I do not wish to overstep, but it seems that young boy has no self-control about him. I wonder whether he will actually keep you safe or make things more dangerous for you.”

Padmé turned around to face her handmaiden, and the cosmetic droid rolled backward to make way. Padmé tried not to look too amused as she continued daubing makeup from her cheeks and scoffed,

“Ani? He was a child the last time I saw him, and he’s little more than that now. But I’ve got every confidence in his master, so there is nothing to fear.”

“Master Kenobi?” Dormé nodded, and the worried look on her face dissolved into a bit of girlish smile. “He  _ is _ handsome, isn’t he? I mean to say, they both are. But the younger one, Anakin Skywalker… it is as you say. He is little more than a boy. But Master Kenobi…”

She giggled then, and Padmé rolled her eyes and grinned. She turned back to her mirror, and the cosmetic droid finished pulling the hairpiece from her head and combing out her tangles. She flicked her eyes toward the security cam in the corner, glad that it transmitted only silent images to the monitoring station. She would have been humiliated to think of her normal security staff overhearing this conversation, much less the visiting Jedi.

“Careful, Dormé. The Jedi Knights are not permitted any relationships, and as my handmaiden, you have duties of your own. We must all keep our eyes in place, mustn’t we?”

“Of course, M’Lady. Forgive me.” Dormé bowed a bit and took a few steps back apologetically. 

Padmé sighed and stared at her own reflection. She ought to follow her own advice, she thought. Who was she to lecture her handmaidens about ogling Jedi when it had been all she could do to speak properly in the meeting with Master Kenobi?

Yes. Obi-Wan Kenobi had stayed handsome over the past ten years. He’d gotten  _ more _ handsome. And that fact, for Senator Padmé Amidala, presented a rather annoying obstacle.

“I think I’ll sleep early tonight, Dormé,” she heard herself mutter, feeling a bit as though she’d taken leave of her senses. Perhaps a good night’s sleep might rid her of the odd, swirling images in her head - thoughts of red-gold hair, of shining blue eyes and a roguish smile.

  
  


“I’m going down to the lower levels to check on Captain Typho’s security measures,” Obi-Wan informed Anakin as they finished their evening meal. He pushed away his bowl of half-eaten fregeni meat stew, and he dabbed his napkin at his lips. He watched as Anakin scarfed down the rest of his own meal and swigged at his Corellian ale. As Obi-Wan rose from his chair, he added,

“I need to ensure that all public entries to this building are appropriately guarded. It won’t do us any good to be carefully protecting the Senator herself if anyone can come striding up to her apartments.”

“I certainly hope they’ve got a strong contingent of local protection for her,” Anakin said firmly, and Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at the vitriol in the boy’s tone. He was even more taken aback when Anakin said off-handedly, “I’ll go up to her rooms and check on her myself while you go downstairs, then. Make sure that everything… you know, that she’s still doing all right.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. He leaned heavily on the back of the chair from which he’d just risen, studying the sharp angles of Anakin’s face in the red glow of the sunset through the window. Obi-Wan stroked at his own beard and said carefully, “I must warn you, Anakin, not to allow your basest desires to consume you. There are more important things at stake, and you’ve taken an unyielding vow.”

Anakin looked irritated as he tossed his napkin down onto the table. “Master, I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side and scoffed. “You directly contradicted me in front of the Senator today in a showy - and failed - attempt to impress her. You stared at her like she was a lake that had spontaneously appeared on the surface of Tatooine.”

“A poetic description, Master, but I do not think you are being fair with me,” Anakin insisted. He rose from his own chair, and Obi-Wan felt a flush of anger come over him. He pushed it away, burying it with a deep sense of calm as he spoke in a measured tone.

“Anakin… my young Padawan student. You do not yet know how to control your emotions, how to stifle your attraction toward another human. It is only natural that you might find Padmé Amidala beautiful, and I can scarcely blame you. But you spoke obsessively of her in the turbolift before you even laid eyes on her again, and now you wish to go privately to her rooms. You and I know full well she will be dressed indecently just now, and that your motivations for visiting her at this hour have very little to do with a security check.”

“Are you jealous, Master?” Anakin prodded in a surly tone, his eyes glowing in the sunset. Obi-Wan felt his mouth drop open with alarm, but Anakin continued, “You can always do the check tonight, and I can do it tomorrow. We can take turns.”

“You go too far, Anakin. Much too far. You debase yourself, your master, and the Senator we have been sworn to protect.” Obi-Wan hissed the words through clenched teeth, struggling to slow his heart rate and to make his breath even. He shut his eyes for a moment and assured himself,  _ There is no passion; there is serenity. _ Eventually, he regained his composure, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw Anakin staring at him with his chin tipped up and a smug look in his eyes.

“Proceed to the lower levels and ensure that there are no vulnerable points of entry for the building. Take note of the manpower available to Captain Tycho for overnight patrols and guard posts. Report back to me outside Senator Amidala’s apartments in two hours,” Obi-Wan ordered, and Anakin gave him a curt bow as he pushed his chair back from the table and stepped away.

“Of course, Master,” the boy murmured, striding red-faced from the room with his boots clacking on the floor.

Obi-Wan paced outside of Senator Amidala’s private chambers for twenty-five minutes, contemplating whether or not to ring the door chime. There seemed to be no need to do so. He could see plainly on the surveillance cam footage that the Senator was sitting in her bed, propped up by pillows as she read a holobook. It would do no good to perplex the poor woman by standing there in her doorway when she was clearly enjoying some private time to herself.

And, anyway, if Obi-Wan spoke alone with Senator Amidala right now, he would be a hypocrite for having chided Anakin. If there was one thing Obi-Wan disliked, it was hypocrisy.

But as he stood in the corridor and stared at the view scanner from his belt, he felt an unwelcome and unexpected twinge. It started in his chest and worked its way out through his veins. She was prettier than he remembered, Obi-Wan thought. She was a grown woman with a brilliant mind of her own now, not some plucky little girl named queen of a backwater planet. Some nagging part of him wanted to ask her what she had spent the last ten years doing, to find more out about the woman she’d become. That was a ludicrous notion, of course. Obi-Wan Kenobi knew better than that. He knew where his duties lay. So he just paced outside her rooms, shutting his eyes every once in a while to mind his thoughts and ground himself in their mission.

“Master Kenobi?”

He’d been so lost in calming himself that he had hardly been paying attention to his actual surroundings. Obi-Wan cursed beneath his breath as he whirled around, a shock of horror going through him at the thought that he might have missed a threat by being mentally absent for a moment. Then he felt his mouth fall open, for Padmé Amidala was standing in the threshold to her own apartments and blinking at him as though he were glowing with light. 

She was wearing a rather provocative white nightgown and a turquoise robe, and her brown curls were neatly tied over one shoulder. Obi-Wan averted his eyes from the sight of her, thinking it far too intimate a thing to see her like this. He sniffed lightly and said in a polite, formal tone,

“Senator Amidala. Is there something you need?”

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then she asked, “Where’s Ani?”

Obi-Wan smirked and looked back to her, ignoring the impropriety long enough to shaking his head. “I beg of you, M’Lady, do not indulge his boyish flirtation. It is in violation of Jedi custom to -”

“Forgive me for being unclear. I only asked where he was because I wanted to speak with you privately, Master Kenobi,” Padmé said in a confident voice. She took a few steps backward and gestured for Obi-Wan to come into her chambers. “I have a few questions about the assassination attempt, and I think you may help me answer them. Please… won’t you come inside and talk with me?”

Obi-Wan tipped his head and considered what to do. Before anything else, Padmé Amidala was a politician, which marked her as wholly untrustworthy in Obi-Wan’s head. She was also his charge, the one he was meant to protect from danger, so he ought not distract himself from that mission with frivolous conversation. And there was the issue of how she had become a beautiful woman over the past ten years.

That alone should have sent Obi-Wan scrambling, or at least it should have prompted him to politely decline Padmé’s invitation into her rooms. But some unseen power dragged Obi-Wan’s feet forward, and he stalked quietly through the doorway after her.

He only hoped his Padawan would take rather a long time investigating Captain Tycho’s security points on the lower level. After their strained exchanges today, the last thing Obi-Wan needed was to show Anakin Skywalker that his Master was a hypocrite.

  
  
  


Padmé had never been self-conscious. Not of her body and not of her surroundings. She had been under constant surveillance from the time she’d been a child - probably from too tender an age - and that had erased any natural sense of bashfulness she may have once possessed. But now she sat at a long table opposite Master Kenobi, and she was suddenly very aware of just how thin the material of her glossy white nightgown was, of how she wore no undergarments beneath it. She swallowed hard and pulled her robe around herself, wondering whether it had been a mistake to open to the door to the hallway and ask him inside. But Master Kenobi was nothing if not honorable, it seemed. His luminous blue eyes were locked on Padmé’s, and there was no hint of guile in his gaze. He folded his hands neatly atop the glimmering silver table and asked politely,

“What questions did you have for me, Senator Amidala?”

Padmé dragged her fingertips along her curls, which she’d twisted over one shoulder. In truth, questioning Obi-Wan Kenobi about the assassination attempt had been a shoddy excuse to speak with him. She had really just wanted his company. Now she struggled to come up with something to say.

“If… if those who arranged the plot are not quickly found, how can you and Ani…  _ Anakin _ … possibly assure my safety on Coruscant?”

“I assure you, Senator, that my young pupil and I will be doing everything in our power to protect you, to anticipate danger and to ward off attacks before they happen. And should we find ourselves in the midst of conflict, I should hope our skills would be enough to adequately keep you from harm. But, of course, I can  _ assure _ you of nothing. You are far too intelligent for such absolutes as that, M’Lady.”

Obi-Wan looked rather tired then, which puzzled Padmé. He rubbed at his forehead, as though he had a headache, and she impulsively rose from her chair and walked to the cabinet in the corner.

“May I offer you something to drink, Master Kenobi?” Padmé said quickly, rifling through the cabinet and picking up a bottle of Oseon brandy. “So often, I… I forget my manners. My hospitality. I can summon a service droid if you’re -”

“No need, Senator,” Obi-Wan said gently from behind her, and Padmé whirled around with the bottle of brandy gripped tightly in her hands. Obi-Wan shook his head where he sat, and a polite smile curled on his lips. His hands stayed folded on the table, and he said in a light voice, “My Padawan and I had a perfectly suitable meal before he went to the lower levels.”

“The lower levels?” Padmé repeated, feeling confused. “Ani went to the lower levels? Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, Senator. I sent him to ensure that all entrances and exits to the building are adequately secured. That’s all.” Obi-Wan’s voice stayed airy, but his blue eyes seemed to tighten a bit. Or perhaps Padmé was imagining things. She glanced down at the bottle of brandy in her hands and studied the golden liquid inside as she said quietly,

“The stilted formality between all of us feels oddly unpleasant, Master Kenobi.” She raised her eyes to him and tried not to sound like a silly little girl. “Do you remember, all those years ago, the way things felt so much easier?”

“Not really,” Obi-Wan admitted, smirking crookedly and shaking his head. “Anakin Skywalker was a difficult boy then, and he’s a difficult young man now. And the things happening about us were very tumultuous when last we met. It was never easy, Senator Amida-”

“Padmé. I beg you,” she interrupted, fiddling with the delicate stopper of the brandy bottle in her fingers. When Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, she felt a hot flush of embarrassment and wondered if she’d pressed him too far. She leaned back a bit on the drink cabinet behind her and smiled shyly as she clarified, “With all the political nonsense swirling about, I should appreciate it if my protectors would at least call me by my name.”

Obi-Wan stared at her for a long moment then, and his face was so unreadable that Padmé felt her ears go hot. She felt like a fool, standing there in her nightdress with a bottle of brandy in her hands. She felt like a wanton little child, pining after a grown man. She was a woman herself, she knew, and a powerful politician. She was far too dignified for a scene like this. She finally swallowed and turned around, tucking the brandy back in the cabinet as she collected herself and cinched the belt of her robe more tightly around her waist.

“Were there any other specific questions you needed answering, M’Lady?” she heard Obi-Wan say from behind her, and Padmé kept her voice gracious as she stayed facing the liquor cabinet.

“Oh. No, nothing in particular, Master Kenobi.” She turned around and flashed the Jedi Knight a smile that may have been a bit too obviously guarded. Obi-Wan rose from his chair. He looked a bit concerned, furrowing his brows just enough for the experienced diplomat in Padmé to notice. He dragged his fingers through his red-gold hair and stepped away from the table, his hand on the hilt of his lightsaber at his hip as he walked toward the door.

“Both you and your handmaiden should have devices to contact both Anakin and myself directly if needed. We will not be far away at any time. Please, if you see or hear anything, do not hesitate. And try not to be anxious. Our only purpose in being here is to maintain your safety, Senator.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” Padmé flinched and cursed internally as she realized she’d used his given name. After all, he’d exhibited a bit of prim hostility when she’d suggested he call her  _ Padmé _ . But Obi-Wan turned to face her when they approached the doorway, and his face was warm and kind. They were closer now than they’d been since earlier in the open reception room, when they’d been surrounded by Jar Jar, Anakin, Dormé, and Captain Typho. 

But there was no one else with them now, and Padmé found herself staring at Obi-Wan’s blue eyes and marveling again at how handsome he was. Only, it wasn’t just that he was handsome. It was also that he was brave, and in control of himself. It was that he was very able, and committed to his life’s work. It was his kind demeanor, the warmth in his voice. Padmé shuddered a bit where she stood and shut her eyes, shouting at herself in her mind.  _ Get a grip on yourself, Padmé! _ She felt like a complete nitwit just now. She needed to send him away before she completely disgraced herself as a legitimate politician.

“Thank you again, so very much, Master Kenobi,” she said firmly, pushing a button on the wall panel. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and Padmé gestured rather grandly through the opening as she flashed the Jedi another friendly expression. Obi-Wan put his hands on his hips and nodded as he strode through the doorway. It was only then that Padmé noticed the other figure out in the living room. She let a grin cross her lips, but she instinctively tucked her robe more tightly about her as she exclaimed, “Ani!”

“I thought I had told you to report back in two hours, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said sternly to his student. “It can’t have possibly been that long.”

Anakin’s face turned to his master, and he scowled as he insisted, “Captain Typho has many reinforcements surrounding the exits and entrances of the building, Master. I feel confident that lower levels are secure.”

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan did not sound so sure, and Padmé glanced between the two men with a bit of unease. She might have been amused to see the bit of rancor between them, the same she’d seen earlier, but her safety relied on the Jedi working together. Then she realized just what was causing so much animosity between master and pupil. Anakin was glaring at Obi-Wan, and then his face turned back to Padmé, and his expression shifted. She realized at once what was the matter with the boy. The smile on her face vanished.

She remembered little Ani on Tatooine, the sharp-tempered child who had referred to her as an angel and told her she was pretty. She was older than him, and she’d written off his affections then as the ramblings of a prepubescent boy who didn’t know what to make of the sight of a girl. But Anakin Skywalker was a man now, and the rather feral hunger in his cocky gaze made Padmé acutely uncomfortable. The jealous expression he gave his master as he watched Obi-Wan walk from Padmé’s chambers morphed into an ugly, crooked look of want as his face turned to her. She shifted on her feet as one of his sandy eyebrows rose, as his eyes bored into her, as he curled up half his mouth in a predatory smile. Padmé knew she was frowning at him, that she was probably being obvious and rude in in showing that she did not like the way Anakin ogled her. She didn’t much care.

“Don’t worry, Padmé. You can sleep soundly. The building is very safe,” Anakin said, his voice oily and smooth. From beside him, Obi-Wan flashed him a chiding frown.

“Such complacency is dangerous, my young Padawan student,” Obi-Wan reprimanded Anakin. “We will be on constant guard through the night. Threats may come from anywhere.”

Padmé didn’t know what to think now, so she just pinched her lips into a flat line and sighed. She was far too tired for all this posturing. “Goodnight, then, the both of you,” she said. “Thank you again.”

She turned and retreated back into her bedroom, pressing the button on the wall panel and leaving the two Jedi glowering at one another in the living room.

  
  


“Anakin, you must find a way to control yourself around Senator Amidala,” Obi-Wan murmured an hour later, once he and his apprentice were seated in the sitting area. He glanced down at the view scanner he’d pulled from his belt, trying to ignore the odd twinge in his chest when he saw the security footage of Padmé Amidala sleeping peacefully in her bed. He set the view scanner down and raised his eyes to Anakin, who leaned his elbows on his knees and stared across the dimly-lit room.

“Master, I can not help myself around her. I… I desire her with all that I am, and I -”

“Anakin, such thoughts are anathema to the Jedi.” Obi-Wan shook his head vehemently. “You know that full well. You must conquer these base and depraved fancies of yours. I will hear no more of it, and you will speak respectfully to the Senator in the future. Your interactions with her thus far have been grossly inappropriate. Too informal, you understand?”

Anakin’s cheeks reddened visibly, even in the dim light. “Master, it was you who was alone with her in her dining room when I came back from my -”

“Again you overstep, my young Padawan learner.” Obi-Wan shook his head and felt his own face flush. He shut his eyes and steadied himself, using his meditative abilities to wash himself in calm and patience. He opened his eyes to see Anakin square his jaw and clench his hands on his knees, and Obi-Wan said in a forgiving tone, “The Senator asked me to come into her dining room to speak privately with her. I obliged. It would be no business of yours regardless, my young learner, but that is what transpired.”

“You do not find her beautiful, then?” Anakin sounded like a wounded animal, and Obi-Wan tipped his head to the side as he realized the boy was not only infatuated with Padmé, but suspicious of Obi-Wan himself. He tried to lie, to tell the boy no, of course he did not find Padmé Amidala beautiful. He found himself unable to say such a thing, so he just shook his head and said quietly,

“Conversations such as this will do you no good at all, Anakin. You are a Jedi, and you are not to concern yourself with lust or romance. You are on Coruscant to protect the Senator from attempts on her life. Can you fulfill this duty or not?”

“Yes, Master. Of course I can,” Anakin said confidently. Of course he was confident, Obi-Wan thought. Anakin Skywalker was always confident. Obi-Wan pinched his lips into a line and sank into a light level of meditation to pass some of the time and to get a bit of rest.

  
  


“Master Kenobi, may I speak with you privately?” Padmé wound her fingers together before her body and watched as Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged glances. Obi-Wan gave his pupil a very meaningful glare that told the young man to  _ stay here _ , and then the Jedi Knight walked with Padmé from the reception room where they’d meet meeting with Dormé and Jar Jar.

In the wake of the most recent attempt on her life, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker had been given assignments by the Jedi Council. Apparently, Obi-Wan had been assigned to track down the assassin - or assassins - who were determined to see Padmé dead. Meanwhile, Anakin had been assigned to escort Padmé back to Naboo. But when Padmé had been given this news, she had felt a pit in her stomach for more than one reason. Now, as she walked from the reception chamber with Obi-Wan in tow, she brushed her fingertips over her scarlet skirts and let out a shaky sigh. She waited until the doors hissed shut behind them, and then she turned to Obi-Wan and said firmly,

“I will not go alone to Naboo with Anakin Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan blinked slowly and sounded rather irritated as he said, “Funny you should say that, Senator. The boy expressed doubt in the Jedi Council meeting that you would willingly leave Coruscant without voting. He knows your commitment to political justice, it would seem.”

“I don’t think you understand, Master Kenobi. Please, do not misinterpret. I do not mean to be ungrateful. The last attempt on my life was nothing short of terrifying, and I am eternally beholden to you and Anakin for the bravery you both exhibited in stopping the assassin.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Then why will you not go to Naboo?”

“I will go. Just… not with Anakin,” Padmé said firmly, and Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed more deeply. He raised his fingers to his beard and stroked a bit, and Padmé tipped up her chin as she tried to steady her voice.

“He makes me uncomfortable, Master Kenobi,” she explained. “I am aware that he… it is very obvious that he desires me.”

A look of realization came over Obi-Wan’s face. He looked regretful for a moment, and then almost as if he were in mild physical pain. He licked his bottom lip and turned his eyes away from Padmé.

“I assure you that the boy means you no harm. He would never hurt you, Senator Amidala. He may ogle and gape, but that would be the limit of it, I promise. And I will tell him again not to do even that much. I do apologize if he has caused you any discomfort.”

“I will go to Naboo if it is you who escorts me, Master Kenobi. If the Jedi Council wishes for an investigation to be carried out about the assassin, let Anakin Skywalker do it. After all, it was him who wanted to badly to  _ investigate _ when he first arrived on Coruscant. Tell him if he wishes to impress me, he may get to the bottom of this mystery. As for you, you may take me to Naboo.”

“With all respect, Senator Amidala, I do not give my own assignments to the Jedi Council, and neither do you.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, and Padmé felt a rush of determination go through her veins.

“These are the terms under which I will leave this planet,” she said. Obi-Wan raised his red-gold eyebrows and looked almost amused.

“I will take your negotiation to Master Windu and Master Yoda,” he acceded, “and see what they say. I can promise no more than that. As for Anakin, I can promise you his disappointment. I know he was very much looking forward to escorting you to Naboo.”

“I know he was,” Padmé nodded. “And that is why I do not wish to go with him. I know you can understand this, Master Kenobi.”

“I can.” Obi-Wan nodded. He turned to go, and Padmé stared down at her skirts. Her fingers still hovered on the red material, and it was only then that she realized how badly her hands were shaking.

  
  
  


Anakin Skywalker made a hobby of flying, usually aboard the fastest and most dangerous starships he could find. Obi-Wan Kenobi, on the other hand, was almost always a passenger, usually a frowning one. He only tolerated the activity of flying because it was necessary to traverse the galaxy. It was never particularly enjoyable. It was particularly  _ un _ enjoyable when it occurred aboard a steerage freighter.

The Jedi Council had agreed, after great deliberation, to send Obi-Wan to Naboo with Padm é Amidala and to allow Anakin to track down the assassins. It had been decided that Master Mace Windu would assist Anakin in his quest, since so many on the council doubted the boy’s abilities on his own. Obi-Wan and  Padm é Amidala were to travel as unobtrusively as possible, and to make no waves once they arrived on Naboo. Obi-Wan could escort her back to Coruscant once he received word from Master Windu that it was safe again, they’d been told. 

Master Yoda and Obi-Wan had met privately about the matter.  _ ‘A true test for young Skywalker, this task will be,’ _ Master Yoda had said. ‘ _ Lifted, perhaps, doubts will be. Confirmed, perhaps, hopes will be. Safe with you, Senator Amidala will be. In that, at least, the utmost confidence I have.’ _

So now Obi-Wan was riding on an old AA-9 Coruscant freighter, a smelly and banged-up clunker well past its retirement date. He and Senator Amidala were ostensibly disguised as refugees leaving Coruscant, though her idea of a ‘refugee disguise’ was significantly more luxurious than what Obi-Wan might have suggested. Padmé’s maroon-and-gold gown and lace headpiece, though perhaps more understated than most of her wardrobe, still stood out among the battered and bruised inhabitants of the freighter. Obi-Wan’s simple burlap poncho at least concealed the lightsaber hilted at his waist, but his eyes scanned the ship frequently to ensure nobody suspected them. 

As they joined the interminable food line, Padmé turned over her shoulder to face Obi-Wan and murmured quietly,

“Do you suppose our luggage will be all right over there in the corner?”

“I can see it, M’Lady. If anyone makes a move for it, I will not hesitate to abandon the promise of gruel. Your gowns are quite safe, I assure you.” He smirked down at her, perhaps a bit too cheekily, and Padmé stifled a little laugh as she took a step forward in line. Finally they reached the servers, and Padmé made a little sound of distaste as she was handed a bowl of gray slop and a wad of stale-looking bread.

“Thank you,” she muttered, though she did not sound particularly thankful, and she ambled off with the food in her hands. Obi-Wan took his own portion and said nothing at all, keeping his eyes ahead as he followed Padmé back toward their luggage. He watched as Padmé set her bowl of mush on the floor and balanced her bread carefully on the rim before delicately arranging herself on the ground. She leaned against one of the suitcases and folded her legs rather modestly beneath her skirts. Obi-Wan felt a strange pang of something as he watched Padmé settle. What was it, he wondered? Admiration for her tenacity in the face of all the danger? Perhaps. Yes. That was probably it.

He gulped and sat down, maintaining what he felt was an appropriate distance between them. He used his bread to scoop the gray mush into his mouth, and he drank deeply from the metal canteen of water he had at his side. Once he and Padmé had passed off their empty dishes to a cleaning droid, Obi-Wan brushed his fingers together and said lightly, 

“You should rest, M’Lady. We entered hyperspace not too long ago, and this is the solid block of time you’ll have to sleep before we arrive on Naboo.”

“And what of you, my brave protector?” She was teasing him a bit, Obi-Wan could tell, but she was being serious, too. He quirked up half his mouth and said reassuringly,

“I have need of far less rest than most people. If I tire too much, I shall take little breaks with meditation. But I intend to stay awake, for the most part. It wouldn’t do for me to be sleeping and leave you unattended, Sena… M’Lady.”

He felt his cheeks go hot as he corrected himself and cleared his throat. What wouldn’t do, Obi-Wan realized with an acidic bite of self-correction, was to have someone overhear him call her ‘ _ Senator _ .’ Good grief.

She was giving him a look somewhere between pity and reprimand now, and then she surprised him quite a bit by shifting onto her knees and edging closer to him. Obi-Wan leaned back a few inches, away from her, alarmed by the way that Padmé was approaching him. He felt his heart begin to race as she settled back into a sitting position, having cut the distance between them in half, and he struggled to calm himself. What was she doing?

“Master Kenobi,” she whispered, and he realized she’d moved closer to minimize the risk of being overheard. “You have not rested properly in countless hours. Please… I know that if some danger were to befall us, you would quickly wake. You are tired. I can see it in your face.”

He stared at her then, and realized that her brown eyes were studying his carefully. Obi-Wan felt his mouth drop open, alarmed at the way the pretty young politician was nodding at him. He licked his lips and shook his head, insisting,

“M’Lady, it is far more important that you -”

“Obi-Wan, sleep, will you? I feel very guilty that you were ever sent to protect me. I am meant to serve people, not to be a burden. To see a Jedi Knight sitting on a dirty freighter on my behalf… Please, grant me one favor to help ease the terrible shame that overwhelms me now. Just rest, and I promise I will not move an inch.”

Obi-Wan wanted to argue more with her, to insist again that he could stay awake or meditate while she slept. But his eyelids were heavy and had been for quite some time. A yawn yanked at his throat, and his muscles burned with fatigue. The warm kindness in Padmé’s face, and the way she nodded with an almost maternal reassurance, finally convinced him. Obi-Wan sighed deeply and leaned back against the grimy wall of the freighter. He tipped his head back against the cool metal and shut his eyes, lacing his hand beneath his tunic and curling his fingers around the hilt of his lightsaber. 

Before he could think much else, he was lost to sleep. It had been longer, perhaps, than he’d realized since he’d rested properly. It felt good to be gone from the waking world. It felt like everything and nothing at once, and time was immaterial as Obi-Wan’s body and mind regenerated themselves. His sleep was peaceful and dreamless, in spite of the smelly, dingy chaos surrounding them aboard the freighter.

After a great long while, Obi-Wan blinked his eyes open. The first thing he noticed was the flickering overhead light - a very old diode that desperately needed changing. The second thing he noticed was that his hand was still wrapped protectively around his lightsaber. And the third thing he noticed was the way Padmé Amidala had leaned her head onto his shoulder and was sound asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _ Padmé… _ ”

Padmé was dreaming. More specifically, she was dreaming of  _ him _ , of Obi-Wan Kenobi. She had never expected to dream of him. But then, she had never expected to see him again after ten years’ absence. When she’d been a very young queen, she had found him to be a fascinating model of dignity and stoicism. Obi-Wan Kenobi had, all those years ago, exhibited features that Padmé Amidala had found admirable, and so she had admired him. She had not expected to lust after him so badly ten years on. 

But here she was, dreaming of him. She was walking with him along some secluded forest path, talking with him in far more casual tones than they’d ever done. How nice that would be, the distantly alert part of Padmé’s brain registered. In her dream, she noticed the vibrant blue of his eyes, the cocky slope in his smile, the gentle lilt of his voice. Padmé found herself breathing differently, even in her dreams, as she noticed these things about the Jedi Knight. Why was she noticing these things? Why did she care about Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eyes, or his smile, or the way he said things? Why did she -

“ _ Senator, wake up, if you please… _ ”

Suddenly Padmé jolted, gasping as she sat up. Her eyes sprang open, and it was only then that she realized she was inches away from him. From Obi-Wan. Her mouth dropped open in horror as she registered that her head had lolled onto his shoulder when she’d drifted off to sleep. She scrambled away from him, holding her hands out in apology as she muttered frantically,

“Forgive me, Master Kenobi; I… I must have slipped off the wall. Sleeping on a freighter - I, really, I cannot apologize enough to -”

“Think nothing of it, M’Lady,” Obi-Wan said graciously, and he cleared his throat quietly. He dragged his fingers along his brown leather boots, and Padmé watched carefully as the pink color faded from his cheeks. A wave of calm seemed to be settling over him as he studied the leather of his boots, and Padmé could not help but wonder if he was able to achieve the serenity using some sort of Jedi mental tactic. She rather wished she had such a tool available to herself right now. As it was, she settled for rifling through one of her bags and yanking out a holobook. She faced away from Obi-Wan and read in silence for a few hours, determined not to make the situation any more awkward than it had already been.

But she had difficulty concentrating on the words in the book, and she had to read many passages over to comprehend them. Her mind was stuck on what she’d seen in her sleep, on the thoughts of walking with Obi-Wan in the midst of a happy conversation. She still could not help but wonder why she’d imagined such a thing, and it further confused her to know that he was, even now, only a few feet away from her. It was humiliating to think that she’d leaned onto his shoulder, that she’d appeared weak and desperate. She could not allow herself to seem cloying, to appear hungry for him.

So she read in silence, nearly all the way to Naboo.

  
  


Obi-Wan Kenobi found politics tiresome. Indeed, he found that politics often actively interfered with justice, and he bore no fondness for procedural nonsense. As he stood in the throne room of the palace in Theed, he found himself paying much closer attention to the faces and actions of those around him than to the political conversation happening. He heard the words passing between the current and former queens, but his mind was focused on observing his surroundings.

“How many systems have joined Count Dooku and the separatists?” Jamillia, the current Queen of Naboo asked Padmé Amidala.

“Thousands,” Padmé admitted. “More leave every day. It is…”

The conversation droned on, with both of the ornately-clad women seeming sufficiently concerned about the fracturing Republic. As for Obi-Wan Kenobi, he was marking and measuring the facial expressions of the guards and handmaidens. He was taking note of the exits, of the open windows, of the belts people wore where they might be hiding weapons. His job was to guard Padmé Amidala, not to partake in political small talk.

“I was thinking I might stay in the lake country,” he heard Padmé suggest. “It is the most secluded place on Naboo.”

She had turned her face toward him, and Obi-Wan jolted to attention. He nodded once, crisply, and agreed,

“It is essentially we get you out of Theed as expeditiously as possible, Senator Amidala. Provided we have the means to communicate with the Queen and with the Jedi Council, I do think wise to keep you in as remote a location as we can manage.”

“But you must visit your parents before you go,” Queen Jamillia insisted, closing her pale hand around Padmé’s. “Your family has been so terribly worried over you, especially these past few weeks.”

Padmé scoffed but gave a gentle smile and nodded. “I can imagine they have been, Your Majesty. With Master Kenobi’s permission, I will spare a bit of time to assuage their worry.”

“It was good to see you, Padmé,” said Queen Jamillia, “even in the midst of this political madness. You continue to serve our people with great honor.”

Padmé bowed and politely bid the Queen farewell. Obi-Wan did the same, and he kept his hand on his lightsaber hilt as he followed Padmé from throne room. Neither of them spoke as they wormed their way through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace. Padmé clearly knew this place like the back of her hand, for it had so long been her home. 

There was a short detour to a private chamber during which a maid assisted Padmé in changing to a more muted, restrained blue traveling dress. Then the two of them headed out of the palace, into the streets and away from the central bustle of the city. They walked in comfortable quiet for a good while toward Padmé’s family home, and Obi-Wan occasionally stole a glance toward her. She did not complain once about lugging her baggage, nor about the sober dress she’d changed into. 

It was then that Obi-Wan realized that Padmé was, at her core, a simple girl who had been thrust into a complicated life. 

“Let us pause here, Master Kenobi,” she said after a while of walking, and Obi-Wan made a small noise to acknowledge her. She pushed aside some of the dark curls that had fallen into her eyes from her elaborate hairstyle and set down her suitcase, pulling her canteen from her belt and drinking water from it. Obi-Wan paused his steps and watched her, suddenly fascinated. She was not quite delicate, but neither did she seem crafted of steel. She was somewhere in between, like a very strong flower. It was rather mesmerizing, to see a creature of graceful composition, of eloquent speech and intelligent thought, yet hard as rock and iron in her resolve. There was something disarmingly beautiful about it all in combination, Obi-Wan thought.

He was shocked then, at the fact that he’d thought such a thing. He was a Jedi, and Jedi were not permitted such maudlin ponderances. She was a Senator of the Republic, and - far more importantly - his charge. And he was a Jedi Knight.

Obi-Wan gulped hard, working past the unruly knot in his throat and the strange flutter in his abdomen. He clenched his fists and felt his knuckles crack, and he shut his eyes against the unwanted spinning sensation in his head.

“Master Kenobi? Are you quite all right?” he heard Padmé ask gently. More irritated with himself than ever, Obi-Wan forced a sense of tranquility over himself, feeling calm pool in his chest. He nodded and opened his eyes.

“I have not, perhaps, stayed properly hydrated, M’Lady,” he explained. Padmé looked a bit surprised. She glanced down to the canteen in her hands and thrust it to Obi-Wan at once.

“Drink!” She exclaimed, and Obi-Wan knew he had little choice now but to obey. He poured the water from the canteen into his mouth without touching it to his lips. It seemed a step too far to press his mouth to the spot where hers had just been. He would think then about what she might taste like, and that was a terrible thing to contemplate, no matter how distantly.

Oh, if Anakin Skywalker could be inside his master’s head now, he would be scowling and laughing all at once.

Obi-Wan screwed the lid back onto the canteen and passed it back to Padmé. “Thank you, Senator.”

“If we’re to pay a visit to my parents, you may not refer to me as ‘Senator.’ It will make them so dreadfully uncomfortable. Please.” Her brown eyes were wide then. Wide and very pretty.

_ What the blazes is the matter with you, Obi-Wan? _ He was shouting at himself in his own head now. Of course, it wasn’t only him that was confused, he knew. He’d felt the pulsing waves of want coming from Padmé during her sleep, in the moments before he’d roused her from his shoulder on the freighter. It had almost been too much to bear then, with the feel of her face on his tunic and the dull course of her emotion in the Force. 

Now they were staring straight at one another, and Obi-Wan wanted very little else but to turn from her and walk back to Theed, to board a ship for any other planet in the entire galaxy, to lose himself to meditation for an indefinite period of time. That wasn’t an option, of course. He was a Jedi Knight, and right now his mission was to protect the very beautiful woman standing before him.

“My mother and father have not seen me in quite some time,” she was saying patiently, “and to them, I am simply Padmé. After all the commotion, please just let me be Padmé for a while. Can you do that, Master Kenobi?”

He nodded silently, unable or unwilling to put any more fight into the matter. She turned her face, and she jerked her chin toward a picturesque, tree-lined road.

“That’s the street just there. The house at the very end? That’s the house. Shall we go?”

  
  


“Aunt  Padmé! Aunt Padmé!” 

“Oh, Ryoo! Pooja! How are you, my sweetlings? I’m so happy to see you!”

It was rather a strange sight to see the erstwhile Queen of Naboo, the Senator who had been subject to assassination attempts, crouching in a sunny alley with little children tangled in her arms. Obi-Wan held back, feeling as though he did not belong here. His own childhood had been spent in a Jedi training academy, and so scenes of familial warmth like this were altogether alien to him. Still, he could not deny that it was enlightening, if nothing else, to see Padmé Amidala in this context. It humanized her a bit more, to see the children’s arms laced about her as they giggled.

“Where’s your mother?” she was asking them, and one of the girls answered,

“Inside, of course!”

“Of course,” Padmé cooed, petting the child’s head. The two little ones dashed up the stairs into the sun-kissed home from whence they’d come, and Padmé turned toward Obi-Wan as she rose to her feet. She brushed her hands on her gauzy blue skirts and looked uncharacteristically bashful as she explained, “My nieces.”

Obi-Wan nodded and managed a pleasant expression. He knew next to nothing of his own family, of course, which was just as well given the life he’d lived thus far. It did a Jedi no good at all to have strong memories of a family, owing to the prohibition against emotional bonds. Obi-Wan Kenobi, like most Jedi younglings, had been taken from his home planet as an infant and had not seen his parents since. His strict training in the Force was all he’d ever known. Anakin Skywalker still struggled with his love for his mother Shmi and the emotional burden that love brought with it. But Obi-Wan had no such burden. So it was with a bit of fascination, and a profound inability to relate, that he watched the reunion of the Naberrie family.

“Padmé? Oh, it  _ is _ you!” A woman who bore many of the same facial features as the Senator came bounding down the stairs. Four little hands clutched her skirts - the children from before, latching onto a woman who was clearly their mother. 

“Sola! I’ve missed you.” Padmé wrapped her sister up in a squeeze on the second step from the bottom as a pair of middle-aged humans appeared in the doorway at the top of the staircase. As the sisters embraced, the parents watched with tearful smiles, and Obi-Wan felt utterly uncomfortable. The elder sister - Sola, was it? - chatted with Padmé about weather and travel for a moment, until Padmé seemed to snap to her senses. She smiled up at her parents and then turned to gesture to Obi-Wan. Her brown eyes locked onto his, and he felt an odd twist in his stomach for a moment until she informed him,

“Master Kenobi, this is my family. My parents, Ruwee and Jobal Naberrie, my sister Sola, and my little nieces, Ryoo and Pooja.” She turned back to her family and said in a firm, proud voice, “This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jedi Knight. He has been assigned to guard me while I’m here on Naboo. Just a safeguard, nothing too extreme. I know you’ll all show him great hospitality.”

“You’re lean now, Master Kenobi, but by the time our mother’s finished with you, you’ll be fat and happy,” said Sola, holding her sister’s hands and winking. Obi-Wan gave a quiet laugh, and from the top of the stairs, Padmé’s mother - Jobal - insisted,

“Well, come inside, all of you!”

“Before I do, I think I should like to perform a quick safety sweep of the exterior,” Obi-Wan said briskly, and Padmé’s parents exchanged a worried glance.

“Is it so serious as all that, Padmé?” Ruwee Naberrie eyed his daughter with alarm, and Padmé gave a nervous little chuckle.

“It’s all part of politics, Dad. Why don’t you show Master Kenobi around the property so that he can feel assured of its safety?” She took a few steps to Obi-Wan and picked up the suitcases from beside him. Her face was warm and kind then, and her voice far more quiet. “Sola and I will take your bags inside, Master Kenobi, since we intend on staying the night here. We’ll get something ready to eat. I’m famished; I’m sure you must be, as well.”

Obi-Wan tried to keep his expression impassive. He was struck by how very  _ human _ she seemed here, among her home and her family. In a way, it was endearing, but it also frightened him. She seemed much more fragile here, more vulnerable. Since he had been sworn to protect her from very real threats, Obi-Wan felt as though he had to be more on guard here than ever. He watched her go into the house with her sister, mother, and nieces. Ruwee Naberrie, the patriarch of the clan, traipsed down the stairs as the women passed him, and he said to Obi-Wan in a benevolent but careful tone,

“The back gardens are just this way, Master Kenobi.” Obi-Wan followed him through a gate that slid open with a motion sensor. The dense grasses in the garden were being mowed by a dedicated droid, while another, more specialized gardening droid tended to a bed of flowers. Obi-Wan stood in the middle of the lawn and shut his eyes, reaching out in the Force and silently searching the area around the house. He could feel no explicit danger, no pulsing threat or ominous presence. But he had been wrong before. He opened his eyes and looked to Ruwee Naberrie, seeing the way Padmé’s father was staring up at the opened window of the raised kitchen.

“Padmé is a very skilled diplomat, Master Kenobi,” Ruwee Naberrie mused, and Obi-Wan frowned as he said,

“So she is, sir. I… I have been impressed with her for a great many years now.”

“Have you known her a long time?” Ruwee asked, and Obi-Wan hesitated before he replied,

“Ten years, sir. It was my own Jedi Master and myself who took the Queen -  _ Padmé  _ \- off of Naboo during the invasion.”

Ruwee’s tired eyes softened. “For that I thank you, then. You are a Jedi, so you are not a father, correct?”

Obi-Wan shifted where he stood, noticing the way the gardening droid behind Ruwee had ambled to a watering spigot and was now irrigating the flower bed. Obi-Wan addressed Ruwee again. “No, I am not a father.”

“Then you may find it impossible to relate to my conundrum, Master Kenobi. But I shall explain it nonetheless, for you seem like a bright fellow. Padmé has a gift for politics. She has a brilliant mind and a soul destined for servitude of the Naboo. She has spent years - her entire youth thus far - in a dangerous but mostly effective campaign to keep the people of this beautiful planet safe.”

Obi-Wan nodded, trying to seem at once interested but distant as the man spoke of Padmé. He tried to think of her only as the Queen, as the Senator, as his security charge. Somehow, the image of the pretty-eyed young woman kept creeping in. It didn’t help when Ruwee Naberrie added in a pained voice,

“Padmé may well be a skilled politician, Master Kenobi, but above all else, she is my  _ child _ . She is my daughter, and for all the decoys and handmaidens they may give her, in my eyes there will never be a replacement for her. You understand me. I can see it. The pain I felt when word reached us of the assassination attempts… I know that promises are empty in times such as these, Master Kenobi. But, will you at least assure this worried father that you will try your very best to keep my daughter safe?”

Obi-Wan felt something then that he could not ever remember feeling. Perhaps he’d come close on Tatooine, when he and Qui-Gon Jinn had left Shmi Skywalker behind with Anakin in tow. They’d promised the woman they would care for her son, and she’d cried as they’d walked away. Somehow, this was not quite the same. There was a qualitatively different undercurrent here that Obi-Wan could not quite place. He put his lips into a flat line and nodded as the mowing droid drifted neatly by them on the vibrant grass. 

“I promise you, sir, that my full power and loyalty as a Jedi Knight continues to be devoted to protecting your daughter. To… to protecting Padmé. I do promise that much.” Obi-Wan put his hands on his hips, glancing up to the open kitchen window as a chorus of female laughter leaked down into the sunny gardens.

“They sound far too happy,” said Ruwee Naberrie, his pale eyes glinting a bit. “Let us go inject a somber male presence into the kitchen, shall we?”

  
  


“Is there anything else I can get for you, Master Kenobi?” Padmé maintained her instinctive sense of diplomacy as she stood outside the guest room in which Obi-Wan had been settled. He leaned a bit against the threshold and shook his head, glancing about as he said politely,

“Nothing at all, Senator. It is a lovely home. Very comfortable. Your mother is an excellent cook.”

“Well, now. I deserve at least some of the credit. I baked the muja muffins.” Padmé smirked rather playfully at Obi-Wan, who smiled back more easily than she’d seen him do before.

“And, indeed, M’Lady, those were the very best part. The best muja muffins I’ve ever eaten. If you decide that a lifetime of politics doesn’t suit, you are young enough to consider a decades-long and doubtlessly successful career as a muja muffin baker.”

Padmé laughed aloud at his cheek, and she rolled her eyes as she confirmed, “In the morning, we leave for the retreat at the lake, yes?”

Obi-Wan nodded, his impish expression fading just a bit. “It is as you suggested to the Queen… it will be safer there. More secluded.”

“Of course. I hope you rest well. Goodnight, Master Kenobi.” Padmé grinned at him once more, and she felt like a fool as she silently pleaded for a final smile in return. When his lips curled up, she felt her stomach flutter, and it took everything Padmé had to turn on her heels and walk down the corridor as Obi-Wan’s door clicked shut behind her. 

_ You’ve devolved into a simpering child, Padmé _ , she scolded herself, wringing her hands in front of her as she padded barefoot back to her own room.

“I’ve never seen you so breathless for a man before,” she heard a quiet voice say from an open doorway. Padmé turned to see Sola shutting the door of her daughters’ bedroom, yanking a modest robe about herself as she raised her eyebrows at her younger sister. Padmé frowned and shook her head.

“It’s nothing, Sola,” she whispered, flicking her eyes back toward Obi-Wan’s door. She was convinced he could hear them, being a Jedi, so she beckoned for Sola to follow her into her own room. In the dying light of the sunset, the space was a warm gold, and it felt more like home than anywhere else in the entire galaxy. Padmé sank onto her bed, and Sola sat beside her. The elder sister wore a look of abject pity that rather confused Padmé. Sola took Padmé’s hands in hers and said solemnly,

“I might suggest, dear sister, that perhaps you look at Master Kenobi the way you do because you’re frightened of all the recent attempts on your life. But I know better than that. You’re not afraid of anything. You never have been.”

“Sola…” There was warning in Padmé’s voice, as she started to pull her hands from her sister’s. Sola held fast and dug her teeth into her lip. Behind her, the sunlight dimmed a bit more, and the sound of birds through the open window began to fade. 

“Padmé. You have given so very much of yourself to our people. How tired you must be. How lonely you must be. And him, as well, the honorable man that he is.”

Padmé felt her mouth drop open, and she stared at her sister in shock. She scoffed and asked incredulously, “Exactly what are you suggesting, Sola? Master Kenobi is as you say…  _ honorable _ . He is a Jedi Knight, bound by his duty and by a code of ethics. As for me? I am a politician who has only come home to reassure my family that I am in no immediate danger.”

“You are home because you  _ are _ in immediate danger. Isn’t that so?” Sola said, and Padmé pinched her lips as she realized her sister was too smart to be fooled. She yanked her hands away, rising from the bed and closing the shutters on the windows. The night air on Naboo could get a bit chilly, so she pushed a few buttons on the wall to set a comfortable temperature. She turned back to the bed and saw that Sola had risen to her feet.

“All I want to say to you, Padmé, is that I hope you find a way to… I hope you can give yourself happiness for once, before you’re too old to enjoy it.” Sola nodded and started toward the door. She put her hand on the panel to open the doorway and said very carefully, “I am a mother, so my senses of observation are more attuned than you might think. I see the way you look at Master Kenobi. I also see the way he tries not to look at you. I hear the flirtation in your voices. And I see no fault in any of it. I only wish you would  _ relax _ , Padmé. For once. Get a good night’s rest so you can travel safely in the morning, will you?”

Sola opened the door and walked through it, flashing Padmé a sad little smile as she did. Padmé huffed a bit as she changed into a nightdress. It was an unadorned white garment, much simpler than the things she usually wore as an official representative of Naboo. She cinched a plain, scarlet robe around her waist and lay on her back in bed, gazing up at the ceiling and contemplating what her sister had said. Then she tried  _ not _ to contemplate it, for the confusion that washed over her was almost too much to bear.

She rolled onto her side and pulled the blankets up around her, remembering how much easier life had been before she’d become a politician. There had been no nights tormented by thoughts of votes or statistics. There had been no niggling worries about betrayal, nor the constant fear of war. There had not been the ever-present anxiety that she was a failure about to die. But Padmé knew full well she could never step away from this life. Politics flowed through her veins just as surely as did blood.

Sola had been right, of course. Padmé found Obi-Wan Kenobi almost intolerably handsome. And she found him kind and helpful. It soothed her to be around him, especially in these chaotic times. Padmé was very glad indeed that it had been Obi-Wan to bring her to Naboo. She thought back to the way Anakin Skywalker had stared at her, his eyes almost predatory, and she shuddered in her bed. The little boy from Tatooine had turned into a leering young man, she thought, and she would not have been at all comfortable to be alone with him for days on end.

Somehow, Padmé managed to drift off to sleep. Her mind was swirling and troubled, but eventually her childhood bedroom gave way to the velvet depth of sleep. Even there, in the dark and quiet, Padmé was not safe from her mental torment. 

She dreamed of Chancellor Palpatine’s lectures on just how serious everything had become, on how the Republic was coming apart at the seams. She dreamed of Anakin Skywalker as a pouting little boy and a scowling grown man. She dreamed of Cordé, lying bleeding on the ground after the explosion that had been meant to kill Padmé herself, as Klaxons blared around them. She dreamed of Obi-Wan Kenobi fighting off dozens and dozens of strange-looking humans and droids, on his own with a lightsaber while a wave of enemies crashed upon him. She dreamed of Obi-Wan pressing her against a wall and doing unspeakable things to her, and then being yanked away by unseen hands before a lightsaber drove straight through him. She dreamed that she was screaming, pulling her clothes back up as Obi-Wan’s blue eyes met hers. She dreamed he was dying, lying on the ground as the life slipped out of him, as a hooded figure shut off a lightsaber and muttered something about the Dark Side, and -

Padmé gasped, sitting bolt upright in her bed and grasping at the blankets around her. She caught her breath and swept her hands over her cheeks, rubbing away the tears that had come during the ordeal. Then she let out a little yelp, for her bedroom door creaked open, and the space around her was abruptly bathed in a vibrant blue light.

“Are you all right, M’Lady?” she heard Obi-Wan’s voice ask, his tone husky with sleep. She met his eyes in the glow of his lightsaber as the door shut behind him, and she suddenly found herself willing away a fresh flood of tears. Padmé gnawed hard on her bottom lip and nodded.

“Just a nightmare, Master Kenobi,” she assured him, trying to sound calm. She heard the tremble in her own voice, though, and she reached up to drag some stray curls from her face. Her heart still raced in her chest, and she saw the way Obi-Wan’s eyes studied her. She attempted a reassuring little smile from where she sat, knowing that it came out much more like a grimace. “I’m sorry if I woke you; did I cry out that loudly? My parents and the children… I should not have -”

“I felt a tremor in the Force, M’Lady. But I wouldn’t worry after your sister’s children. You made no sound that I know of.” Obi-Wan glanced around the room, and he finally turned off his lightsaber. Padmé blinked through the abrupt darkness, her eyes taking a moment to adjust again to the dim light. Finally, she could see the Jedi Knight once more, and she felt an unwanted clench in her chest. 

“As long as there is no danger, I shall go back to my own room,” he said, rubbing at his beard as he tucked his lightsaber hilt back into his belt. He nodded, looking a bit perplexed, and he said quietly, “Goodnight, then, Senator.”

“Please don’t call me that right now,” Padmé pleaded, impulsively drawing herself from her bed. Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide, and he took a step backward as Padmé approached him. His voice cracked a bit as he whispered with obviously feigned calm,

“I think it more important than ever that I call you by your title now, M’Lady.”

“Hmm.” Padmé rolled her eyes, feeling them burn a bit as she did. “Yes. Let there be no impropriety. I understand.”

She was standing a short distance from him now, but she stopped and adjusted her posture into the formal, diplomatic stance she used with strangers. Obi-Wan’s face morphed a bit as his eyes cast up and down her form. Padmé realized suddenly that one shoulder of her nightgown had drifted, that part of her torso was immodestly on display. She made no effort to fix her garment, but she noticed the way Obi-Wan turned his blue eyes toward the wall. Anakin Skywalker would not have done that, Padmé knew. Anakin would have ogled her, and that was why Obi-Wan was here. Because Obi-Wan was looking at the wall while his brows furrowed and his cheeks reddened.

“Thank you, then, Master Kenobi,” Padmé forced herself to say. She pulled the shoulder of her nightgown up, not wanting to cause her kind-hearted guardian any discomfort. She was more frustrated than ever as she added, “I do apologize for disturbing your sleep.”

He shook his head, still not looking at her. “It is no trouble at all. It is the only reason I am here, Senator. To… to keep you safe.”

“Well. You do a fine job of that. Making me feel safe.” Padmé nodded crisply and sighed. Obi-Wan still did not move, and she wondered what was delaying him if he’d been so anxious to go. She watched his blue eyes slowly flutter closed, and for a long moment she was baffled. It was as if he were sleeping on his feet. Then she realized he was meditating, a tactic she knew Jedi frequently employed. 

Padmé tried not to gawk at Obi-Wan Kenobi as he meditated. But she was fascinated by the way the lines around his eyes relaxed visibly, the way his mouth loosened and his lips fell open a little. She was transfixed by his red-gold eyelashes, by the steady oscillation of his breathing with his arms crossed over his chest. After a while, Obi-Wan looked at Padmé again, and his blue eyes flashed. He squared his jaw, and Padmé noticed a little quickening in his breath that she had not at all expected.

“Did it help?” she whispered, referring to the meditation, and Obi-Wan shook his head no. Padmé was not sure at all what to say or do then. The basest part of her wanted to touch him, to raise her hands to his cheeks and feel the scratch of his beard beneath her fingers. But Padmé Amidala was nothing if not a politician. She was nothing if not a diplomat. So she took a deep, shaking breath, and she gave him the most steady expression she could manage. 

“Thank you again, Master Kenobi,” she murmured gently. “I shall do my best not to have any more nightmares.”

His mouth turned into a sad little smile as he said kindly, “I would be the last to fault you for doing so, Senator. After all you have seen, I would be far more alarmed if your sleep was peaceful.”

For a minute then, Obi-Wan Kenobi looked as though he were weighing a very important decision. Finally he nodded down to Padmé, and he reached out with a hand that shook much more than Padmé would have expected from an experienced Jedi. She tried desperately not to make any sound when his palm settled on her cheek, when his fingers snared in her dark curls. She tried not to let her breath be quick and shallow as her lips fell open. But it was no use, because Obi-Wan had lowered his face to hers. He moved smoothly, as though he were afraid he would change his mind if he waited another second. 

The only coherent thought that went through Padmé’s head was how very  _ gentle _ he was as he kissed her. His lips pressed to hers, warm and sweet and  _ gentle _ . So little in Padmé’s life had been gentle, but he was. Obi-Wan was. She knew he was not gentle when he was wielding a lightsaber. She had seen him be domineering and flinty with Anakin Skywalker. But he was  _ gentle _ now, in the way his hands cupped her face and pulled her up against him. He was being careful and slow as he dragged his lips against hers. 

After a moment, Obi-Wan’s gentleness started to give way to something more urgent. He still soothed her with his lips and his hands, but he quickened against her a bit. Padmé noticed how rickety the Jedi Knight’s breath had become on her mouth, and she shivered at the feel of it. A little spark ignited somewhere in the back of her mind, and she began to kiss him back.

  
  


He had meditated for a moment to try to keep himself from doing this - to try to control the way he wanted to kiss her. But it hadn’t worked. Obi-Wan Kenobi was almost always able to shroud himself in calm, in serenity, during moments of crisis. This time, it had not worked.

She tasted like the liquor from Akiva that was honey at the front and lavender at the finish. She was just as intoxicating as that, too. Obi-Wan knew he should pull away, that he should have never pressed his lips to hers at all. But the most wild corner of him told him to  _ keep going _ , to kiss her more deeply.

So he did. And he liked it.

After a moment, she was standing against her bedroom wall, and he was looming over her with his arms bracing him. It was getting much too intense, he realized. He was exploring her mouth now, and she was making a little mewling sound that was far too lovely. Obi-Wan should have been disturbed by the way his own tongue was tracing the roof of her mouth, by the way she was sucking his lip between her teeth, by the way her hands drifted aimlessly around his chest. He should have been disturbed by her, by himself, but he wasn’t. He liked it.

He felt a twitch between his legs, a warm flush and an aching need. Padmé’s fingers curled tentatively around the edge of his belt, and her wide brown eyes searched his face as Obi-Wan wrenched himself away. He felt his chest heaving, felt his mind spinning out of control and his heart thumping like a war drum.

He frowned and pinched his lips, taking Padmé’s hands gently in his and bringing her knuckles to his lips as he forced himself to step backward. Suddenly he woke up, and then it was not Padmé who had been having the disturbing dreams. It had been Obi-Wan Kenobi who had been lost to insanity. He blinked quickly and released Padmé’s hands. He was ashamed then, and he worked through the ringing in his ears and the burning in his veins to ground himself again.

“I can not… I can not possibly… apologize enough, Senator Amida-”

“Obi-Wan.” Her voice was breathy but stern, and she swept the back of her hand over her lips as her cheeks colored. “Don’t do that to me. Believe me, I understand the predicaments on both sides here. Let’s just each go to bed, shall we? We have both had a difficult… a chaotic time lately.”

Obi-Wan nodded as formally as he could and cleared his throat. He yanked his tunic down farther around his hips to cover what he suspected was rather obvious evidence of what kissing Padmé had done to him. He dragged his thumb over his beard and said in a precise tone,

“Please be ready to leave at sunrise. An amphibious speeder has been arranged to transport us to the lake district. It will be here early in the morning. You have my word, Senator, that I will conduct myself with strict professionalism going forward. I do… I apologize.”

Padmé stared at him, and Obi-Wan could not interpret her gaze at all. She had years of practice in hiding her emotions, and he thought it unwise to reach out in the Force and try to read the pulse of her signature. 

“Goodnight, Obi-Wan,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Goodnight.” He opened the door and stalked through it, cursing himself under his breath. It was not until he was alone in the guest bedroom again that Obi-Wan was able to steady his mind and his body. 

He curled himself up atop the bed, folding his arms and legs and surrendering his consciousness to meditation. He was determined now to cloak himself in the Jedi Code.

He thought of the sight Padmé’s shoulder, bared a bit from the way her nightgown had fallen. He had looked away out an inherent sense of decency, but the image of her smooth skin had burned itself into his mind. Now Obi-Wan willed it away, shoving it aside.

_ There is no passion. There is serenity. _

He thought of the taste of her - the sweet, intoxicating warmth of her lips that had made him come alive from the inside out. He thought of the little whimper she’d let out when her back had hit the wall, of the way her shaking fingers had touched his belt uncertainly. Obi-Wan willed all of that from his head, or at least from the forefront of his consciousness.

_ There is no passion. There is serenity. _

He thought of the things she’d said to him. Telling him that he did a good job making her feel safe. Demanding that he use her real name. Asking him whether the meditation had helped him control himself.

_ There is no passion. There is serenity. _

He had been a fool to kiss Padmé, he knew. They both had their duties. Obi-Wan Kenobi’s duties did not include lust toward the young Senator from Naboo.

After what felt like forever, Obi-Wan’s mind stilled, or at least calmed. The images of Senator Amidala faded enough that he did not feel so frightened of his impulses. But as Obi-Wan drifted back off to sleep, on his back atop the blankets, he thought of Anakin Skywalker and his professed crush on Padmé Amidala.

He could not blame his young Padawan one bit for being infatuated. Obi-Wan Kenobi was no hypocrite.

 


	3. Chapter 3

  
  


Anakin Skywalker dragged the pad of his thumb over the dart in his hand. He had hit a bit of a hurdle in his investigation. He’d taken the dart to the Jedi Temple for analysis, but the information droids had insisted that the dart could not be identified. Anakin had searched himself through manuals, through weaponry encyclopedias, but… nothing. He’d spoken directly with specialists within the Jedi Order. Nothing. No one could tell him where the toxic dart that the assassins had used had come from. Anakin was no closer to uncovering the truth behind the attempts on  Padmé Amidala’s life than he’d been before she had left Coruscant.

He was not sure what to think of her now. She had insisted that Obi-Wan Kenobi take her to Naboo. It had been explained to Anakin that this was because he’d expressed so much interest in opening an investigation about the assassination attempts, and because Obi-Wan had more experience and would make a better lone guard. But Anakin knew better. He had seen the discomfort in Padmé’s face the last time he’d laid eyes on her. She did not like when Anakin looked at her. She did not like him.

She still thought of him as “Ani,” as the little whiny boy from Tatooine. He wasn’t that little boy, of course. He was a powerful Jedi learner now, and becoming more powerful every day. If Anakin had the opportunity to show Padmé just what he could do, perhaps she would be more impressed with him. If he had the opportunity to push her up against a wall and kiss her, to make her feel alive the way she did to him, then maybe she would realize he was a man now. Maybe she wouldn’t grin and tease him and call him “Ani” like she’d done all those years ago on Tatooine. Maybe she would moan and frantically whisper, “Anakin,” and then she would know that he was no child.

Anakin stared at the dart and sighed. He wondered rather bitterly what Padmé was doing right now. Naboo was a pleasant place, Anakin knew. He’d give anything to be there now, passing time with Padmé and proving to her that he was a grown man who found her to be beautiful and intelligent. Instead it was Obi-Wan there with her, and Anakin was certain that his master was boring poor Padmé out of her mind. Obi-Wan was nothing if not devoted to the Jedi way of life. He’d shown that consistently to Anakin over the years. Obi-Wan could be witty and sarcastic, and he certainly had a sense of humor. But the man had an underlying and constant sense of calm, of duty, of seriousness. Anakin knew that his master would keep Padmé safe, and that was a small comfort. But he would give  _ anything _ to trade places with Obi-Wan now.

He was not supposed to contact Obi-Wan unless it was an emergency. That had been made perfectly clear to Anakin before Padmé and Obi-Wan had departed Coruscant. But neither Mace Windu nor Anakin had any solid leads on the origin of the toxic dart, and until they figured out that particular mystery, there was little hope of propelling the investigation forward.

Anakin’s hand hovered over the subspace transceiver in his quarters for a long moment before he picked up the transmitter. The device was safeguarded with encryption modules, Anakin knew, and so was the device Obi-Wan had taken with him. Security of communication was not Anakin’s concern just now, though.

He could pick up the transceiver, and a message would reach Obi-Wan in seconds. He could tell his master that the vast stores of Jedi knowledge held no answers on the toxic dart’s origin. He could inform Obi-Wan that Master Windu and Anakin had been frantically searching for answers to no avail, and he could ask Obi-Wan for advice. But he didn’t do it. He did not wish to appear weak to his master, or incapable. He did not want word to reach Padmé that he was just a child playing detective.

Instead, Anakin tucked the dart into his pocket, and he carefully put the hilt of his lightsaber in his belt. He walked from his quarters toward the turbolift, determined to arrange a meeting with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. If there was anyone who might have some answers, who might respect Anakin’s abilities, and who might maintain discretion, it was Chancellor Palpatine.

  
  


“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“So it is.” Obi-Wan nodded to Padmé as she leaned on the balustrade overlooking the mountain-rimmed lake. It really was a gorgeous place, and Obi-Wan had seen quite a few planets in his day. The air here was crisp and easy to breathe, and the cool evening breeze off the water was soothing. The resort to which they’d come was nothing if not luxurious, and Obi-Wan thought there were few better places in the galaxy where one might spend time waiting out the danger of assassination attempts. He had been on many dangerous missions as a Jedi, and this one felt particularly pleasant by comparison. 

Once their bags had been brought up from the speeder dock, Obi-Wan had settled himself into his rooms, taken a brief sonic shower, and put on fresh clothes. He’d taken a small meal on his own, having been informed by the serving staff that the Senator was being well attended. Then the sparse staff of the place seemed to have disappeared, and the sun was hanging low and warm on the horizon by the time he found Padmé on the balcony.

A part of Obi-Wan wished he had not come looking for her, that he had just stood outside her rooms and ensured her safety throughout the evening. She was wearing a gauzy pastel dress that seemed like it was adhering to her skin only through magic. Her entire back was revealed, and Obi-Wan found it impossible not to notice the allure of that. Her hair was tied up in a headpiece, and she’d dabbed a bit of perfume on. Obi-Wan might have asked why she’d gone through so much trouble to make herself look presentable, when they were isolated in the middle of nowhere and it was almost night time, but he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

“Drinking already, Senator?” he finally teased, jerking his chin to the little glass in her hands. “The sun’s still up. I must say I admire your festive spirit.”

She smirked and swigged at the clear liquid in her hands. She winced and made a throaty sound of displeasure as she swallowed the liquid, and then she laughed. 

“Mandalorian  _ tihaar _ ,” she said. “Burns like the blazes.”

Obi-Wan scoffed and picked up the bottle of  _ tihaar _ from the small table beside Padmé. 

“I got utterly sloshed on this stuff one time,” he admitted, “after an unfortunate and jarring encounter with some rather hideous sand grubs. Still makes me queasy to think of it.”

“To think of the  _ tihaar _ ?” Padmé smiled, and Obi-Wan clarified,

“No, the sand grubs.”

“So, will you be joining me, then?” Padmé asked, seizing the bottle and pouring herself a bit more of the liquid. Obi-Wan noticed the glaze in her brown eyes. She had been drinking for a while before he’d come out onto the balcony, he realized. He shook his head and said seriously,

“I think that would be ill-advised, Senator.”

Her playful smile vanished, and she set down the full cup of  _ tihaar _ on the balustrade. She nodded and stared out at the lake, her eyes more glassy than ever.

“I want to apologize, Master Kenobi, if I have done anything to make this mission more difficult for you than it needs to be. I already feel quite guilty about all the trouble I’ve caused. My place is on Coruscant, serving my people in the Senate. The fact that I am hiding at a lake resort under guard, like some sort of helpless child, is humiliating enough. It’s frustrating not to be able to do my job properly. And… if I am keeping  _ you _ from doing  _ your _ job, Master Kenobi, by having behaved inappropriately, I do apologize.”

She had prepared those words in advance, Obi-Wan knew. She spoke them with the measured practice of a professional orator. Her fingers wrapped around the balustrade, though, and she swayed a bit where she stood.

Even Senators and former Queens, it seemed, could use alcohol to dull troubling thoughts.

Obi-Wan reached for the full cup of  _ tihaar _ that sat on the balustrade, and he wordlessly poured it into his mouth. It burned like flame, searing his mouth and throat and leaving an unpleasantly bitter aftertaste. Padmé stared at Obi-Wan, agape with wonder as he set the empty glass back down before her. He shook his head and said firmly,

“Padmé, you are the most profoundly capable and professional person I have encountered, and I have spent many years encountering capable, professional people.”

She gave a little snort of laughter then, which dissolved into full-on giggles that made her intoxication more evident. Obi-Wan tried hard not to laugh, and managed to limit himself to a crooked smile as he watched her struggle to reign in her amusement.

“That is the most confusing compliment I have ever received, Master Kenobi,” she said finally, reaching for the bottle of Mandalorian  _ tihaar. _ Obi-Wan felt a little spike of worry as he watched her try to pour the liquor. It spilled onto the balustrade, and Padmé huffed quietly with frustration. Obi-Wan gently took the bottle, and Padmé gave him a dazed look.

“I thought your mandate was to protect me from assassins, Master Kenobi. Not to… to protect me from myself.”

He frowned, staring down at the liquor and knowing that Padmé was only drinking it because of what had happened the night before in her parents’ house. If Obi-Wan hadn’t been so foolish as to kiss her then, to plant seeds of doubt and confusion in her mind, she would likely not be standing out here getting herself blindingly drunk. Obi-Wan glanced over the edge of the balustrade to ensure no one was below, and then he dumped out the rest of the bottle.

“Master Kenobi!” Padmé exclaimed, sounding rather horrified. Her words were slurred as she watched the liquid splash on the ground below. “Mandalorian  _ tihaar _ is… it’s very expensive!”

“Padmé, look at me.” His voice was more firm then that it probably should have been. She was far too elite a woman to be bossed around the way he was doing now. But Obi-Wan clutched the empty bottle of liquor more tightly in his hands and shifted on his feet, and Padmé obeyed his command and raised her glassy brown eyes to him. She was distractingly pretty, he thought. 

“Padmé,” he said again, realizing that her name felt rather nice upon his tongue.  He put his hand to his hip and touched his lightsaber hilt, very much on instinct, and he felt a pleasant breeze wash over him from the lake. He swallowed heavily, trying not to pay too close of attention to the way she was looking at him with sadness in her eyes. “There was an incident, many years ago, when Qui-Gon Jinn and I were in a cantina on Genarius. We had just ended a rather grueling mission to stop a violent band of pirates from terrorizing innocent villagers, and we thought we might take a well-deserved break. The alcohol flowed very freely that night. I was… oh, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age.”

Padmé nodded, leaning heavily on the balustrade, though she looked a bit confused. She blinked slowly, as if she were having trouble registering Obi-Wan’s story. He plucked the half-full glass of  _ tihaar _ from the balustrade and emptied onto the ground, setting the glass and the bottle of liquor beside him and rising up the meet Padmé’s eyes again.

“Qui-Gon Jinn was never a big drinker, you understand,” he said, “But that night, Qui-Gon had four Wookiee-wangos. The Sallustan gin hit him harder than he expected, I think. I had to practically carry my master up to his room in the hotel. It did not feel safe or wise to have a Jedi so incapacitated, so do you know what I did?”

“No.” Padmé shook her head, looking very blurry-eyed as she dragged her fingers along the balustrade. “What did you do?”

Obi-Wan took a risk then, wondering if she would slap him for touching her. He reached for her cheek and cupped it in his hand, and Padmé surprised him by shutting her eyes and leaning against his palm. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath and said in the steadiest voice he could manage,

“I used my powers in the Force to heal my master, to erase the presence of the alcohol in his veins and its effect on his mind. I could do the same for you now, Padmé. If you’d like.”

She kept her eyes closed, and she breathed so slowly as she burrowed her cheek against his hand that Obi-Wan wondered for a minute if she’d fallen asleep. But then Padmé murmured,

“No… thank you, just the same. Do you know, Master Kenobi, that I had rather hoped you might get drunk with me and do something silly? I thought maybe I could convince you to drink some  _ tihaar _ and kiss me again, and that way, in the morning, we could both just tell ourselves it had been the liquor this time. It would be nice, wouldn’t it, to have an excuse?”

“It would be,” Obi-Wan admitted, thinking he ought to pull his hand from her face at once, “but I do not need to be drunk to want to kiss you again.”

Her eyes blinked open then, slowly, and the trees beside them rustled gently as the evening breezes picked up. The setting sun was golden on Padmé’s face, and she was so pretty that it was hard for Obi-Wan to breathe properly. He made no effort now to meditate or to settle himself the way he’d done at her parents’ house. He found he did not want to remove himself from this, from the feel of her face in his palm or the sight of her eyes locked with his.

“You are an honorable man, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she slurred quietly, nodding against his hand. Obi-Wan did not know whether she was making an observation or trying to convince him of something, so he said nothing. Padmé reached up and wrapped her hand around his on her cheek, and her feet stumbled a bit as her inebriation threatened her balance. Obi-Wan’s right arm was around her waist at once, drawing her against him by the small of her back to steady her. 

This was far too much, he knew. It was beyond the pale of Jedi ethics to be standing here with her flush against him. It was excessive to have his arm threaded behind the back she’d bared so boldly in her gauzy dress. It was wholly unacceptable, he knew, to  _ want _ her so very badly like this, to feel a pulse of craving work its way out from his core as she stared up at him. And he knew he was very wrong indeed to be pressing his lips to hers. That was wrong of him.

Only, it didn’t feel wrong as he did it. It felt very right indeed. There it was again - the honey and lavender flavor that intoxicated him straight through their kiss. And she smelled like the flowers that surrounded them, like the breeze coming off the lake. Her skin was soft and smooth, and Obi-Wan found himself drifting his fingers around her bare back. Stars, but she was delicious.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had kissed a few women before. After all, brief sexual encounters were not entirely forbidden to the Jedi. What was forbidden was possession and relationships that required emotional ties. But sex, raw and simple, was something that happened without much discussion. Sex without emotion was a private matter that, as far as Obi-Wan knew, was not in violation of the Jedi Code. Qui-Gon Jinn had certainly had many a woman in his quarters at various hotels in various systems. As a Padawan, Obi-Wan had observed prostitutes, pretty girls from bars, and the occasional fellow Jedi Knight slipping quietly out of his master’s sleeping space. Obi-Wan himself had been with a girl or two of his own, in a purely exploratory capacity.

Then there had been Satine, the duchess on Mandalore for whom Obi-Wan had born great affection. They had been physical more than once, and for a time Obi-Wan had been afraid he might have been in love with Satine. It was good, probably, that he had not seen her in many years now. His relationship with Satine had become entirely too emotional by the time they parted. 

In the world of the Jedi, lust was permissible. Bonds of possession were not. 

As he stood on the Naboo balcony with Padmé in his arms, Obi-Wan tried desperately to convince himself that it was mere lust making her taste so exquisite. It was only lust, he reminded himself, that had made him go hard and was causing the little whimpers to vibrate from Padmé’s mouth into his. It was just a primitive - if powerful - lust that made him envision putting his hands beneath her filmy dress and doing very indecent things to her.

“I feel very dizzy,” Padmé murmured suddenly, pulling her lips from Obi-Wan’s and letting her head loll a bit. He held her shoulders and felt like an absolute cur then. She was  _ far _ too drunk for him to be kissing her, he knew. She couldn’t even properly want it right now. He gnawed at his lip and sighed, and then he scooped beneath Padmé’s knees with one arm and put the other behind her back. She went limp as he cradled her, and Obi-Wan wondered exactly how much Mandalorian  _ tihaar _ she’d drunk before he’d found her on the balcony.

Her bedroom was an airy space with a grand entryway to the balcony. Durosian marble columns lined the circular walls, and the bed sat low and wide with luxurious silken coverings. Obi-Wan encountered little resistance from Padmé as he placed her atop the bed, and she said nothing as she rolled onto her side and tucked her knees up to her chest a bit.

He stared down at her for a moment and then flicked his eyes out to the balcony. It did not feel as though it would rain tonight, but the air would continue to chill as darkness fell. Obi-Wan did not think it appropriate to manipulate Padmé’s body so intimately as to truly  _ tuck _ her into her bed, nor was she in any state to change from her gauzy backless dress into a nightgown and robe. He huffed a little sigh as he realized again just how much more drunk she’d been than he’d realized.

He pulled off his brown outer robe and placed it atop Padmé’s body, and her hands reached around the hem to pull it more securely about herself. She made a quiet sound of contentment, but her eyes were closed and she seemed more lost to to the liquor than ever. Obi-Wan did not want to stand here staring at her; it felt wrong, even if it was an alluring sight. He dragged his fingers through his hair and turned to go. His boots made an obnoxious sound on the marble floors, but he still heard her voice as she murmured,

“Obi-Wan?”

He turned back, his hand wrapped protectively around his lightsaber as his eyes settled on her. She stirred a little beneath his rough brown robe.

“I think… I think I shall forever be apolo… I think I will always be telling you  _ sorry _ , Obi-Wan,” she mumbled then, her voice more slurred than ever. She was trying to sound dignified, Obi-Wan knew, but she was failing miserably. He pinched his lips, crossing his arms over his chest as though he could lock her out from himself like that. He had experience blocking blaster shots with a lightsaber blade. He could keep others from his own mind. But somehow, he was useless against Padmé. 

“You do not need to apologize,” he told her lightly. “It is I who… I should have known better than to take advantage. Goodnight, Senator.”

“Stay with me tonight, will you?” she drawled, and a pang of physical discomfort struck Obi-Wan in his chest. He looked at her atop the bed, beneath his robe, and he shook his head. She could not see him do it, he knew. It didn’t matter. 

“I will retire to my own rooms,” he said in a quiet tone, “because I would much prefer if you did not despise me when that expensive liquor works its way out of your system. You have more than enough enemies. I should like to count myself among your allies. So… goodnight.”

She didn’t answer him, and he suspected she was asleep. He turned to go, wondering distantly what Qui-Gon Jinn would think if his master could see him now.

  
  


“Your Excellency.”

“Ah, yes! Please do come in, Anakin. It is good to see you again.” Chancellor Palpatine rose from his desk in the Executive Office. Palpatine strode across the red carpeting, his robes swishing grandly about him as he approached Anakin.

It was good to be so warmly received by a man in such a position of power. Anakin often felt that the Jedi Council thought very poorly of him, and it had been obvious that Padmé Amidala still thought of him as a child. At least Chancellor Palpatine respected that he was a grown man with gifts and powers.

“I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice, Your Excellency,” Anakin said in a deferential tone. “I had hoped to get your advice on a matter of great urgency.”

Palpatine raised his eyebrows and held out his hands. “Why, of course! Whatever is the matter?”

Anakin pulled a small, gleaming object from his pocket and held it out in his palm toward the Chancellor. “Have you ever seen one of these before, Your Excellency?”

Palpatine carefully plucked the toxic dart from Anakin’s palm and gave a soft little gasp as he examined the object.

“A poisoned dart,” Palpatine breathed. He held it up to Anakin and asked, “Was this used against someone, my boy?”

Anakin nodded gravely. “As I’m sure you know, the second attempt on Pad - on  _ Senator Amidala’s _ life - involved two kouhons being released into her bedroom. Obi-Wan Kenobi and I tracked the assassin who planted the kouhons. A female Clawdite bounty hunter. But just before she could tell us the name of who’d hired her, she was shot dead… with  _ that. _ ”

He jerked his head toward the dart in Palpatine’s hand. The Chancellor marveled at the small device for a moment, and then looked back at Anakin. 

“And you hope that if you can identify the weapon, you might get more insight into the plots that threaten the Senator’s life?”

“That’s right, Your Excellency,” Anakin nodded. “The problem is, I’ve consulted with the Jedi librarians, with the analytics droids, with weapons specialists. Nobody can tell me where this dart comes from. I know it’s a long shot, but I had hoped maybe you’d seen something like it. Maybe you could offer me some new insight.”

Palpatine frowned deeply as he held the dart up to the light and squinted at it. It seemed like an eternity to Anakin as Palpatine studied the intricate notches and characteristic wings along the side of the dart. But the Chancellor finally shook his head and said with a regretful tone,

“It is some sort of saberdart. I would guess that the central rod was loaded with a potent, fast-acting neurotoxin ampoule that exploded on impact. As for its origin, I’m afraid I can offer you no new knowledge on that matter. But… why don’t you leave this with me? I will gladly get in touch with some metals analysts, some additional information droids… I will try my best to source this for you, Anakin.”

Anakin felt a wave of relief come over him. He nodded and didn’t try to subdue the smile that crossed his lips. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

Palpatine tucked the little dart into his robes and clapped his hand onto Anakin’s shoulder.

“It is important that Obi-Wan Kenobi and Senator Amidala know how hard you are working to get to the bottom of this terrible mystery. Rest assured that I will vouch for your efforts, for your persistence and your thoroughness, when at last it is safe for the Senator to return.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Anakin nodded. “In the meantime, I may seek out a meeting with a few of the Siniteen bounty hunters known to be operating on Coruscant. They may not like the Jedi, but perhaps they’ll at least have a conversation with me.”

Palpatine’s white eyebrows shot up, and he tipped his head to the side as he said, “Be very cautious, Anakin. I know you are devoted to your goal of protecting Senator Amidala, and I do greatly admire your tenacity. Indeed, I think this is all foreshadowing of the great Jedi you will be. But those bounty hunters are ruthless, and many are enemies of the Republic. Tread carefully.”

“I will, Your Excellency. I appreciate you looking more deeply into the matter of the toxic dart.” Anakin gave a polite incline of his head and touched his hand to his lightsaber hilt. Palpatine’s face warmed a bit, and he nodded.

“I will contact you as soon as I have more information for you. Thank you, Anakin.”

As Anakin strode from the elegant Chancellor’s suite, he was glad he had not contacted Obi-Wan Kenobi about the dart. His master, while intelligent and experienced, certainly would not have more knowledge about the weapon than did the resources of the Jedi libraries. He had been right, he thought, not to admit to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Padmé Amidala that he was having such difficulties in his investigation. It was far better that Anakin had enlisted the assistance of Chancellor Palpatine, who was proving more every day that he was a very good model and mentor for Anakin outside the strict bounds of the Jedi Order.

  
  


The rains on Naboo were rarely punishing. Usually, rain on this planet was misty and fine. This morning was no exception. When Padmé woke, she felt delicate flecks of water on her cheekbones, and she realized that rain was being swept into her bedroom from the open balcony. She blinked a bit, glad that the clouds had stifled the sunlight since her head was pounding. She should not have drunk the  _ tihaar _ , she thought. That had been an ill-conceived thing to do. 

As she sat up, she realized that the blanket atop her was no blanket at all. It was the rough-hewn brown material she’d seen around the shoulders of a certain Jedi Knight. Padmé twisted her fingers around Obi-Wan’s robe, letting out a shaking sigh as she thought back to how he’d kissed her again. She had practically begged him to do it, having swigged liquor and spoken suggestively about him doing the same and the two of them having excuses to be  _ silly _ . What nonsense. Being silly…

Padmé felt her cheeks color with humiliation. She had not been so drunk as to forget what she’d said to him, though she rather wished she could forget. He’d tried to convince her to let him sober her up - apparently Jedi had the power to do such a thing - and she’d rejected the offer. That had been stupid, too, Padmé thought. She’d wanted to stay drunk so that she would have her excuse to be  _ silly _ , to kiss him. And he had tasted so warm, and he had been so very gentle. Again.

The parts after the kiss were a blur. She could vaguely remember the feel of his arms around her, carrying her inside. She could half-hear his voice explaining why he wouldn’t stay in her bed, and that made Padmé flush a deeper scarlet than ever. It also made her reflect on the truth of one thing she had said to him.  _ You are an honorable man, Obi-Wan Kenobi. _ She stared at his robe in her hands, and she nearly cried.

She rose from her bed and walked to the wardrobe on the wall. She pushed a small button to summon the attendant droid, which arrived swiftly and helped her make herself presentable. By the time the droid was finished with her, Padmé was cleaned, dressed, had her hair styled, and had makeup on her face.

Her hair had been neatly knotted above her head in a twist of braids and curls, from which hung a sheet of airy turquoise lace. She had chosen understated attire for the day - a skirt of copper-colored velvet that danced when she walked, over which lay a long, tight-fitting tunic with long sleeves. The tunic was turquoise raw silk, embroidered with copper thread and had slits up the sides to allow movement. For most women in the galaxy, perhaps, this outfit would be considered luxurious and formal. For Padmé, who had been known to spent hours preparing for a public appearance, this look was positively provincial.

“Thank you,” Padmé murmured to the droid once she’d decided she could accept her appearance. The attendant droid chirped and wheeled itself from her room. Padmé followed the droid out, carefully folding Obi-Wan Kenobi’s brown Jedi robe over her arm and walking toward the dining rotunda between their quarters. She thought he might be in there now, taking his breakfast. 

She was right, as it turned out. The moment she walked into the dining rotunda, Obi-Wan rose from where he sat at the elegant wooden table. His eyes seemed a more vivid blue than ever in the gray light of the rainy morning, and Padmé gave him a little smile as she walked to where he stood. She held out his brown robe and said simply,

“Thank you for the blanket, Master Kenobi.”

He just nodded as he took his robe back, and she turned to go to her chair. She sat opposite him and let a serving girl bring her a plate of ghibli fruits and a small muja muffin. Padmé thanked the girl and took a bite of the muffin. From across the table, Obi-Wan said quietly,

“The food at this retreat is generally of very good quality, though I find I much preferred the muja muffins you baked at your parents’ house.”

Padmé raised her face to him and grinned. The rest of the meal passed in a surprisingly comfortable peace, until Obi-Wan set down his cup of blumfruit juice and said in careful tone,

“I worry that my young Padawan learner may not be entirely capable of unraveling the mystery behind the assassination attempts on his own.”

Padmé was surprised to hear Obi-Wan speak so frankly, and she balked a bit as the pleasant atmosphere in the dining rotunda evaporated. She folded her hands on the table and straightened her back.

“Anakin seems like an intelligent young man,” she said cautiously, “and, correct me if I am wrong, but I thought you said he had the assistance of more senior Jedi in the investigation.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard a bit. He tipped his head, opened his mouth, and shut it again. He was holding something back.

“Please speak your mind, Master Kenobi,” Padmé said, feeling ill at ease all of a sudden. Obi-Wan’s bright blue eyes locked on hers for a minute, and then a look of determination came over him.

“Premonition and foresight is not a skill to be relied upon among the Jedi, for it is not something that is terribly dependable. And I have not had any vivid visions of the future. What I have experienced, rather constantly since last night, is a dull but distinct sense of unease about Anakin and what he is doing. I can not be more illuminating than that, I’ve afraid; it is often difficult to describe sensations in the Force to those who can not experience them.”

Padmé tried not to react too heavily to what Obi-Wan was saying. She took a measured breath and nodded. “You think something is wrong. That… something has happened to him?”

“I am not sure what to think,” Obi-Wan admitted. “A sense of foreboding, almost of dread, surrounds my mind when I focus on Anakin and his task.”

Padmé felt a bit queasy then, as if she were suddenly drunk on  _ tihaar _ again. “Perhaps we should go back to Coruscant,” she suggested, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

“That would be in direct violation of my orders from the Jedi Council,” he told her. “I think perhaps I ought to bring Anakin here to Naboo, at least for a brief meeting in Theed. It is not secure enough to communicate about this issue with him in depth over subspace transceivers, even encrypted ones. I would like an update from him on what he’s found out thus far, and I would like to gauge what’s happening on the other side of things. My objective is your safety, Padmé, and I think it will be more difficult to assure that unless I can speak directly with Anakin.”

Padmé nodded and sighed. “If you think that’s best, Master Kenobi, then I leave it to you to contact whomever you must to arrange for him to come to Theed. I will disguise myself in the city, and we will meet with Anakin. My unease was in being alone with him, which I know you understood. But I also know why it is the Jedi Council first wanted  _ you _ to be the one investigating the assassination attempts.”

“So you have no confidence in Anakin when it comes to either task, then,” Obi-Wan said, sounding darkly amused, and Padmé gave him a scolding look.

“I know that if you have such a serious sense of anxiety, it can not be for nothing. I trust your judgment, Obi-Wan. Send for Anakin, and we will return to Theed to meet with him.”

  
  


“Master Kenobi, the transport speeder will be arriving in about two hours.”  Padmé swept into the Jedi’s bedroom, trying to walk with confidence. She could no longer be coy around him, acting like a doe-eyed little girl. She was a Senator, and so she tipped her chin up and let her elegant, dark green skirts fall neatly around her where she stood. 

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan nodded, and Padmé eyed him curiously where he sat on his bed. His brown leather boots were in front of him, and he was cleaning them with a crude-looking rag. Padmé fingered the gold braid around her waist and said carefully,

“Would you like me to fetch the cleaning droids for you before we go?”

He smiled patiently and shook his head, continuing to rub the rag on the toe of his boot. “Jedi are taught from a very young age, M’Lady, to respect our uniform and to treat it with pride. I have been wearing a Jedi uniform for as long as I can remember, and I have never before let a droid clean my boots.”

Padmé hesitated. “I hope I did not do dishonor to your uniform by using your robe as a blanket, then.”

Obi-Wan looked up from his boots, and the hand holding the rag stilled. “No,” he said quietly. “Of course not.”

“In any case,” Padmé said lightly, gliding to his bed and sinking down to sit, “Tell me, Master Kenobi. What exactly did Anakin Skywalker say when you contacted him and told him to come to Naboo?”

Obi-Wan’s lips curled up a bit as he turned his eyes back to his boots. He buffed a bit at a stubborn spot on the leather, and he said thoughtfully, “Anakin is very confident in his abilities. But he has skipped a great many steps in the formal structure of the Jedi training, and it has been difficult, at times, to deal with his arrogance.”

That didn’t answer Padmé’s question, of course, but she still found it an interesting thing to note. She studied one of the shimmering shed beetle wings on her gown and murmured, “You seem like a patient and able master for him.”

“I try. Unlike Anakin, I am not so very confident in my abilities,” Obi-Wan said. He sighed deeply and set down the boot he was holding, moving onto the other one as he examined the leather for dirt or scuffs. His voice was measured and level as he said, “When I ordered him to come here to meet, he was a bit too enthusiastic for my liking.”

Padmé frowned. She raised her eyes to Obi-Wan’s face, but he was deliberately keeping his focus on his boots. Padmé straightened her posture again and said delicately, “You worry that he is too eager to see me? Is that it?”

Obi-Wan nodded, and he finally met Padmé’s gaze. His blue eyes shone with a strange, distant sentiment for a second, and then serenity seemed to come over him again. He lowered the boot and rag to his lap and said, “Anakin is not very good at accepting that many times we don’t get our way. Once he puts his mind to something, and he decides he wants it, it can be nigh impossible for him to accept failure or rejection.”

Padmé scoffed quietly and smiled. “Well, unfortunately for him, he’ll have to take rejection from me. I’m not interested, and, anyway…”

Her voice trailed off then, for she had been about to say, ‘ _ He isn’t allowed to seek me out. _ ’ Then she realized the deep hypocrisy in that, and she lowered her face. 

“Padmé.” Obi-Wan’s voice was gentle. How was it, Padmé wondered, that a man so known for his prowess in battle could always be so gentle with her? She forced herself to look at him, even as he shoved his pair of boots and the rag away. A distant part of her mind thought she ought to chastise him for his lack of respect toward his Jedi uniform, but she couldn’t speak as she stared at him. Finally, she blinked and managed to find her voice.

“I don’t want Anakin Skywalker,” she said again, “and I won’t hesitate to make that plain when he comes here. I will be as diplomatic as possible in rejecting him if it comes to that, Master Kenobi.”

“You don’t have to want anybody at all,” Obi-Wan reminded her, though Padmé wondered whether he was talking to her or to himself. She smiled a bit as he rubbed his forehead and said firmly, “You are an accomplished politician in your own right, and you owe no man your attentions.”

“No, I do not owe attention to anybody,” Padmé agreed, “but I am free to offer it nonetheless, am I not?”

She did something then that she knew to be foolish, and she hoped that Obi-Wan Kenobi would not reject her outright. She reached for his face, cupping her hand around his red-gold beard. Then she leaned forward and touched her lips to his. At first, he did nothing. He didn’t react at all, and Padmé panicked for a moment. Her lips trembled against his, and she was rather afraid that she had ruined everything. So much for diplomacy.

But then it was like something had detonated inside of Obi-Wan. His own hands suddenly cinched on her waist, locking around the woven green material of her gown. He drew Padmé closer and crushed his mouth more firmly against hers than he’d ever done. Padmé realized at once that Obi-Wan had given up on holding back, on fighting her off, and she whimpered softly against his lips.

Her fingers drifted to his belt, finding the cold metal clasp, and she pressed the sides until it popped open. Obi-Wan sucked air in hard through his nose as he kissed her, but he did not protest as Padmé pulled the belt and cloth beneath it away. She finally broke their kiss, very carefully placing the belt and obi near his boots on the other side of the bed.

“Utmost respect for the uniform,” she murmured, staring for a moment at the brown leather. Obi-Wan’s hands were on her face then, turning her back to him as his lips met hers once more. Padmé felt a strange flush of heat go through her, and a rather insistent sensation of want between her legs that might have been embarrassing under different circumstances. She wasn’t embarrassed now. Not anymore. She wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi, very badly. He dragged his tongue over the roof of her mouth, and Padmé made no effort at all to stifle the moan that that elicited.

She was clumsy then as she tried to pull away his layers of sashes and tunics. He helped her, peeling away one piece at a time and half-heartedly folding them. Padmé marveled a bit as his chest was bared to her. He was lean and hard from decades of training and battle, though not so sculpted as to seem inhuman. There was a dusting of his red-gold hair scattered on his chest, which was heaving a bit now as he stared at Padmé. She dared to ghost her fingertips along his skin, and Obi-Wan shuddered beneath her touch. His own hands pawed helplessly at the waist of her crocheted dress, and he said with a breathy laugh,

“I confess I wouldn’t have a clue how to start getting you out of this gown, Senator. I’m not one for conspiracy theories, but one might be inclined to think this dress was designed with chastity in mind.”

Padmé smirked and curled her fingers around his, pulling them up the side of her torso along the beads and pearls. 

“I can’t make it  _ too _ easy for you, can I?” she teased, leaning backward a bit and urging Obi-Wan to follow her. He did, and suddenly Padmé found herself lying on her back with Obi-Wan Kenobi hovering above her. He leaned onto one of his hands while the other one reached between them and yanked a bit at the heavy skirts of her gown. 

Padmé tried not to gasp or cry or do anything else that gave away how overwhelming it all was to her. She had never, ever done something like this, and she found herself baffled by how strongly her body was reacting. He had made her come completely alive, from the inside out, in a way she’d never felt before. Her whole body was thrumming and pulsing, and a warm ache between her legs told her that she was very ready indeed for something new to happen there. Padmé had touched herself alone before, of course, as any woman might do. But this was categorically different. The fire in her veins at the sight of him was nothing she’d ever experienced, and her eyes burned from it. 

She reached up on instinct and rubbed his arms a bit, whimpering quietly at the feel of his muscles beneath her fingers. So this was why women all over the galaxy went mad for men. Obi-Wan’s hand had managed to work its way beneath her skirts, which Padmé realized were being hoisted up around her waist. This was progressing quickly to something forbidden, something unknown, but she wanted it badly. She felt Obi-Wan’s fingers tentatively stroke the inside of her thigh, and she shivered and arched her back a bit as her heart raced faster.

“Padmé,” she heard him whisper, though her eyes were wrenched shut so that she could not see him. His voice was different than she’d ever heard it. Usually Obi-Wan Kenobi spoke in slick, controlled tones, no matter what chaos or danger was around him. Now there was a wobble in his voice, a little crack, and Padmé reached up to take his face in her hands as his fingers stroked her thigh again.

“More, Master Kenobi,” she murmured desperately, opening her eyes and finding herself locked into his blue gaze again. “Please.”

He grunted quietly, sounding more uncontrolled than ever, and then there was a feeling of firmness against Padmé’s abdomen as he rolled his hips forward. They were separated by her gown and his trousers, but she was still shocked by the feel of his erection grinding against her. Padmé’s hands tightened on Obi-Wan’s face, and his hand stilled on her thigh as he surveyed her face. Suddenly he frowned, his brows knitting deeply. His fingers twitched against Padmé’s thigh, and he shifted a bit, making his hardness rub her again. 

Padmé knew that her eyes were round with alarm, that she was panting and red-cheeked and probably making a complete fool of herself. But Obi-Wan Kenobi must have seen something else, because a look of grim awareness settled on his features, and he pulled himself back. He sat back on his knees beside Padmé, dragging his hand through his hair and sighing as he asked her gently,

“You’ve never done anything like that at all, have you?”

It wasn’t really a question. He clearly knew the answer. Just the same, Padmé slowly sat up, feeling rumpled and embarrassed, and admitted, “No. I haven’t. I’ve been a bit busy for such things. What difference does it make?”

Obi-Wan looked at her like she was speaking another language entirely for a moment, and then he blinked. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, and his tone was more kind than ever as he said,

“Somehow, it seems as though a situation like that has no hope of being free from emotion, Senator. The… the type of emotion which Jedi are prohibited from experiencing.”

His cheeks went scarlet, and Padmé realized what he meant. He would not be able to be the first man she was with in that way without feeling a bit possessive. He would not be able to help her discover sex without feeling a bit of ownership over the experience. And he would not be able to say it had only been lust. Padmé nodded and huffed out a little sigh, struggling not to cry as she pulled herself from his bed. She smoothed her dress, noticing but not much caring that some of the shimmering wings had fallen loose. She reached up and touched at her braided hairstyle, knowing it was utterly destroyed, and she said quietly,

“I think I’ll go freshen up and ensure that everything is properly packed. I’ll eat something light on my own and meet you at the speeder dock.”

Obi-Wan said nothing. He sat on his bed as she walked with regal posture from his bedroom. As Padmé stalked through the doorway, she knew he was still there, with his tunics and robe and boots scattered about him… trappings cast aside during their brief bit of passion that he would put right back on.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

“Thank you for coming, Anakin. I trust you had no problems flying yourself here discreetly.” Obi-Wan met his student’s eyes, and Anakin replied curtly,

“No problems at all, Master. It’s an easy route.” Anakin turned to Padmé, and his expression morphed. His posture changed, and he was a bit too obvious in how his eyes flicked up and down the front of her and took in her exquisite green gown. Anakin touched his hand to his hip, to the lightsaber there, and he inclined his head almost reverently. “Senator Amidala. I’m so relieved to see you’re still safe.”

Padmé laughed airily. “Did you not have confidence in your master’s abilities to properly guard me, Ani?”

Her words and her tone were no accident, and Obi-Wan felt an odd heat in his ears as he watched Anakin’s mouth fall open. He seemed flustered for a split second, but then he regathered his confidence and said in an oily tone,

“All I meant, M’Lady, is that your safety and well-being has so consumed my thoughts since you left Coruscant. That’s why I’m glad to see you safe… and looking as lovely as ever.”

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan glared at his Padawan, feeling a bizarre twist in his stomach as the boy flirted so brazenly with Padmé. Anakin cocked his face toward Obi-Wan and looked a bit smug. “Forgive me, Master. You’re very right. That was too bold of me. Even if it is the truth.”

Obi-Wan felt a bit of seething anger then, and he had to take a moment to collect himself and force calm to flow in his veins again.

“You will mind your thoughts and your words, my young Padawan, and you will conduct yourself in a manner that suits a member of the Jedi Order. Do not show me that you can not be left alone.” Obi-Wan pinched his lips, and Anakin’s arrogant facial expression gave way as he nodded crisply.

“Of course, Master.”

Padmé sighed with audible frustration and walked across the sunny palace room in which they were meeting. She looked out the window for a moment, down onto the doomed green roofs of Theed, and she asked carefully, 

“Anakin, what have you found out so far about the assassination attempts? As much as I enjoy being back home, I need to return to my official duties as quickly as possible.”

She turned to face the two Jedi men, her eyes hovering on Obi-Wan’s for a brief moment before turning to Anakin. The boy cleared his throat and said,

“Even now, Senator, investigations are being made about the toxic dart Master Kenobi and I took from the dead bounty hunter. It has been complicated and difficult to source it, but -”

“You will have no solid leads on that dart?” Obi-Wan asked rather incredulously, and Anakin flashed him a look of indignation. He shifted on his feet and said hotly,

“As I said, Master, I am hard at work at sourcing the weapon. The Jedi Archives and the analytics droids could give me no information whatsoever about it. I sought out the advice of other experts, but no one had any insight. I was unable to trace the dart, and thus the person who ordered the last assassination attempt. But I continue to work hard on -”

“How?” Obi-Wan demanded. All of a sudden, he started to feel the same unease he’d sensed at the lake retreat. Something was off about Anakin’s investigation, and Obi-Wan could not ignore the Klaxon sounding in his mind. He folded his arms into his robe and tried to project a calm sense of authority as he clarified to Anakin, “Where is the dart now?”

Anakin hesitated for a second, and Padmé turned her face to Obi-Wan with a question in her wide eyes. Finally, Anakin said, “I met with Chancellor Palpatine, in the hopes that he might be able to give me some new insight. He has the dart. He’s going to consult with some additions weapons specialists, and I have submitted a surreptitious request for a meeting with the Siniteen bounty hunters on Coruscant for more advice.”

“You gave the dart to Chancellor Palpatine?” Obi-Wan said incredulously, knowing he was being harsh in his tone. Before Anakin could answer, though, Obi-Wan knew the truth. It was because the boy had been ashamed to admit he was having difficulty. He had not wanted to appear weak. So he had sought out mentorship and advice from someone besides his Jedi master.

And  _ that _ , Obi-Wan realized, was the source of his unease. The fact that the threads of his bond with his Padawan had frayed… he had felt it in the Force.

“I do not mean to be ungrateful for your efforts, Anakin,” said Padmé, folding her hands neatly before her green gown, “but I worry that so little progress has been made in allowing me to return to Coruscant. I have a duty to fulfill for my people, and I can not fulfill it from a lake retreat.”

She may not be a queen any longer, but she looked more regal now than ever, Obi-Wan thought. Padmé’s moss-colored gown hugged the shape of her body without compromising her physical grace.  Her hair had been twined into an almost unfathomable knot of braids, looped and piled atop her head. She bore no title of queen these days, though one might swear her braids today were her crown - such was the majesty imposed upon an observer.

Her confidence was marked and noticeable now as her eyes trained on Anakin Skywalker with a questioning glare. Anakin had been looking at Obi-Wan for some reason, but he turned his face back to  Padmé now that he was under the weight of her glare.

“When do you suppose enough progress might be made for me to carry out my duties as Senator?” she asked Anakin pointedly. “Much as I might enjoy whiling away the days with Master Kenobi, my place is on Coruscant right now.”

Anakin looked a bit confused then. His gaze flicked between Obi-Wan and  Padmé, and then his eyes narrowed. In that moment, Obi-Wan felt a flicker of panic, and it was clear. Anakin could see; he was not blind and never had been. He was stronger in the Force than just about anyone Obi-Wan Kenobi had ever encountered. The boy would be able to plainly feel the pulse of attraction emanating from his master toward Padmé. Anakin scowled, making no apparent attempt to hide his displeasure and surprise as he said to Padmé,

“M’Lady, I apologize for the misunderstanding. I suppose I was not aware that I had only a few days to figure out this very complicated plot. Perhaps if you doubt my abilities with the investigation, you might consider sending my master back to Coruscant, and I can stay here to guard your safety.”

Padmé tightened and tipped her head. Her braids shifted as she moved, slithering over the fine emerald material of her gown. In the sunlight, she glistened like a pearl, looking opulent and dignified in comparison to the plain-clothed Jedi. Her voice was prim and diplomatic when she spoke.

“Of course there is no strict timeline, Anakin. I only hope you can understand why it is that I might hope to get back to my Senate duties quickly. I have confidence that you, working together with Master Windu, will work quickly and effectively to solve this terrible mystery.”

Anakin looked disappointed for a moment, and then he looked offended. He nodded, though, and Obi-Wan said to him in an unequivocal tone,

“I will compile a list of codes for you before you leave Naboo, Anakin. I would like detailed updates on the investigation every other day at minimum, via subspace transceiver, using the codes.”

Anakin turned the corners of his mouth down. “Of course, Master.”

“You will stay for an evening meal and a night in a comfortable room, won’t you, Anakin?” Padmé said, her tone suddenly genial and hospitable. She gestured to the marble columns surrounding the space. “There are many guest rooms in the palace. You should rest before flying yourself all the way back to Coruscant.”

Anakin turned his face to Obi-Wan with an almost sarcastic twitch of his eyebrow. “If my master says it’s all right, Senator, then I will stay.”

Obi-Wan smirked. “Yes, my young Padawan. Of course you will stay. But you must see if you can convince Senator Amidala to venture to the palace’s kitchens. You haven’t experienced the splendor of Naboo until you have tasted her muja muffins.”

  
  


Padmé stared at the ceiling in the guest room she’d been granted by the Queen. She had never been in this particular room before, though she knew the palace well. The ceiling was high and arched, and in the nighttime, a dull blue glow was cast across the marble. Padmé had been staring at the ceiling for so long now that it was swimming before her tired eyes. She thought she would probably be staring at the ceiling until the morning. Sleep was not coming easily tonight.

Today had been… confusing. It seemed like an eternity ago since Padmé had been lying on her back with a shirtless Obi-Wan Kenobi atop her, his fingers on the inside of her thigh. The very memory of that made Padmé’s body flush with heat again, and she stirred beneath the brocade blankets on the wide bed. Yes, that felt like a whole lifetime ago, though it had only been twelve hours or so. In the intervening time, Padmé and Obi-Wan had traveled back to Theed on a speeder, had settled into guest quarters at the palace, and had met with Anakin Skywalker. 

Padmé thought her worst suspicions about the boy had been confirmed in that meeting. His leering stares and overconfident posturing had been worse than ever today. She was not entirely sure why Obi-Wan had felt uneasy about Anakin’s progress with the investigation on Coruscant. It now seemed, however, like Obi-Wan had been right to be suspicious.

He’d also clearly picked up on the attraction between Padmé and Obi-Wan. Anakin’s glare had sharpened and grown cold after he’d seen the way Obi-Wan had studied Padmé in the sunlight.  Padmé had noticed Obi-Wan’s gaze, too. His blue eyes had searched her as though she were water in the desert, and there had been an almost tangible aura of confused need about him. Padmé knew that if she could pick up on such a thing, surely a Jedi Padawan like Anakin Skywalker could pick up on such a thing.

Padmé wondered whether she had been as obvious. She’d tried very hard not to be obvious. She had tried to look refined and dignified during the meeting with Anakin. She’d spent years honing her skills at hiding her feelings. She had spent over a decade perfecting the art of turning her human face into an illegible mask. The safety of planets, the viability of laws, had relied on Padmé Amidala’s ability to shut others out.

But today, she thought, she may have been a bit obvious. Anakin Skywalker may well have noticed the way Padmé so often found herself looking at Obi-Wan’s belt and remembering the feel of its metal clasp under her fingers. Anyone in their right mind would have clearly seen how deeply it was that Padmé’s and Obi-Wan’s eyes had met when he’d helped her up the stairwell, holding his hand out in a gentlemanly fashion. Anakin had been watching then, and Padmé knew that a certain look had come over her when she’d taken Obi-Wan’s hand. She had probably been very obvious.

She shut her eyes, sick of staring at the ceiling of the guest room. The hum of speeders on the Theed streets had quieted, and Padmé knew that most of the people of the city were at rest. Sleep still did not come to the former queen, however, so Padmé decided to try a different tactic for relaxation. Her fingers edged beneath her blankets, and she pulled at her delicate pink-and-black lace nightgown. Her fingers danced up the inside of her leg, tracing the same path that Obi-Wan’s fingers had done earlier. It didn’t feel nearly as good now, to be touching herself instead of having him do it. But it at least took Padmé back to when he’d been hovering above her, his arms flexed and his eyes alight. 

She felt a little clench between her legs and gasped, wanting much more than the ghost of her fingers on her thigh. Obi-Wan had seemed unable to continue earlier when he’d learned that Padmé had no physical experience with a man. She wanted nothing more just now than to get that experience, no matter what emotion went into doing so. It might have been a wonderful thing, she thought, to have continued earlier with Master Kenobi.

She was properly wet between her legs now, and that became very obvious when the pads of her fingers touched at her folds. Padmé arched her back, wondering distantly if this was something Obi-Wan would have done if he hadn’t stopped. Would he have twisted his fingers into her body, Padmé wondered, and thumbed at her nub to drive her mad? She did it to herself, cursing how thin and smooth her fingers were, since they felt nothing like his would. 

Padmé rolled herself onto her stomach, ignoring the way her lace nightgown clung and gathered about her. She began to grind her body against the base of her hand, hooking her fingers inside herself and wondering if it would have felt anything like this with Obi-Wan. She panted against her pillow, her left hand clutching desperately at the sheets as she rocked her hips and wrenched her eyes shut.

She remembered the way it had felt when he’d ground his erection against her, and she moaned aloud. She’d wanted to find out much more about what lay beneath Obi-Wan’s trousers, but she hadn’t had the chance. She probably never would have the chance; he had shut down that option today rather unequivocally. And Anakin’s suspicion would only make Obi-Wan more hostile, Padmé knew. But then she remembered the way his hard lump had felt as it rubbed her abdomen, and she groaned again. Her fingers and hips worked in tandem now, faster and faster until -

Everything exploded in an instant. There was heat, and cold, and then heat again. There was a ringing so loud in Padmé’s ears that she would not have been able to hear a Klaxon going off in the bedroom. There was a spectacularly pleasant tingling, the feeling that a long-simmering itch had been assuaged. Padmé’s womanhood cinched erratically around her fingers, and her hand was a sticky mess by the time it was all over. She couldn’t bring herself to care. She lay face down on the sheets, panting with a little sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“Obi-Wan,” she heard herself whisper, distantly wishing that he would come barging into her room now the way he’d done at her parents’ house. But, for all Padmé knew, he was speaking privately with Anakin or meditating. In any case, whispering his name a few more times did nothing to summon him. She lay on her side and stared at the bedroom doors, but no one came through them. What did happen, though, after many hours of insomnia, was that Padmé’s eyelids grew very heavy indeed. She fell asleep to thoughts of the Jedi Knight, of his red-gold hair and the feel of his hands. She fell asleep to the taste of his kiss on her lips and the sound of his gentle voice in her ears. 

And for the first time in a great long while, Padmé’s sleep was easy and peaceful.

  
  


“Please go to sleep, Anakin.” 

Obi-Wan’s voice was drowsy and a bit irritated, but Anakin could still hear the underlying affection in his mentor’s words. He blinked his eyes across the dimly-lit guest room in which he and Obi-Wan had taken up residence for the night. They both lay atop the rich blankets of their respective beds, each used to lifetimes of hardship that made the Naboo palace almost uncomfortably opulent. Anakin sighed and put his hands beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling as he muttered,

“I’m sorry, Master. I sleep poorly these days… ever since I started having those dreams about my mother.”

Obi-Wan’s face turned where he lay on his own bed, and his tired eyes softened. “I do hope you’ll remember what I told you. Very often, such things not portents of the future, nor harbingers of doom, but only nightmares. Still, I know you are troubled by them. You love your mother, and you can not help that.”

Anakin scowled. “It must be easier to have been raised in the Jedi Temple, to not remember your family. That way you don’t have to worry about anyone you love getting hurt.”

Obi-Wan hesitated for a long moment before he finally said, “No, I suppose I don’t.”

There was a silence then, in which Anakin pondered the way Obi-Wan had looked at  Padmé during their earlier meeting. He tried to shove the thought aside, knowing that distrust toward his master was wrong and that he needed to focus on his mission. To distract himself from the ugly coil of suspicion in his belly, he asked Obi-Wan,

“What was it like? Growing up as a Jedi youngling?”

Obi-Wan scoffed quietly into the darkness. “I never knew any differently, I suppose, so I’ve nothing to compare it to. In many ways, it was rather pleasant. The Jedi Temple is a magnificent place to be, even for a small child. And I think I knew, from a very young age, that to be a Jedi was something very special. Very important. So I rarely resented the difficulties, even though Master Yoda was very strict.”

Anakin thought over Obi-Wan’s response and let his eyes close. He breathed deeply, trying to slow his racing mind.

“There was one time… oh, I must have been only five or six years old…” Obi-Wan mused. “I managed to get  _ very _ lost in the Jedi Temple. We were expected to know its layout by heart, and so the instructors would release us, blindfolded, and tell us to take off the blindfolds and work our way back to our clan quarters.”

Anakin snorted a bit. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and gave Obi-Wan a cocky look across the dimly-lit room. “And you got lost, did you, Master?”

Obi-Wan smiled wistfully, as if it were distantly pleasant for him to remember the incident. 

“I took off my blindfold, and I was in a refectory I’d never seen before. It must have been some other clan’s preferred dining hall, my little brain thought. For a little while, I searched for some clue of what level I was on, what sector of the building I was in… but it was hopeless. After three hours of wandering around the refectory, I just sat down at a table and asked a droid to bring me some ghibli fruits.”

Anakin laughed aloud at that, watching as Obi-Wan’s blue eyes crinkled. Obi-Wan shook his head and grinned as he did a fair imitation of Master Yoda’s voice.

“‘ _ Stay focused on your task, you must, young Kenobi _ .’ That was what Master Yoda said when he finally found me. ‘ _ Time for eating ghiblis, you were allotted not.’ _ That stuck with me, you know. The way he taught me not to get distracted.”

Obi-Wan’s smile faded a bit then, and Anakin realized the purpose of the allegory. Perhaps the tale about the little boy and the ghibli fruits had been true. Perhaps not. It didn’t matter. Obi-Wan was telling his Padawan to stay focused on the investigation on Coruscant. Anakin nodded solemnly, lying back and shutting his eyes again.

He was very nearly asleep when a nagging sensation of warning prickled against his consciousness. Through the Force, Anakin could feel that something was off in Padmé Amidala’s room. He had trained his senses to feel for her in the Force, to be on alert for danger, and now he could tell that something was wrong. Anakin sat up quickly and reached for his lightsaber, springing from his bed and activating the blade on instinct.

“Master, don’t you feel that?” he demanded, shocked by the way Obi-Wan was still lying on his back with his eyes shut. Anakin 

gripped his lightsaber hilt and stared down at his master in the blue glow.

“Yes, I feel it,” Obi-Wan answered, his voice a bit tight. Anakin was confused. He turned his eyes toward the door as a fresh wave of alarm came over him. The anxious pulse was growing stronger. 

“Something is wrong,” Anakin hissed, still baffled by how unaffected Obi-Wan seemed to be by it all. Anakin jabbed his lightsaber toward the door as Obi-Wan sat up with a heavy sigh, and he exclaimed, “We need to go, Master! Something is wrong with Padmé; can’t you feel it? We need to go to her right now. I’m going.”

He was panicking, he knew, but the tension in his head was so strong now it almost hurt. Obi-Wan held his hand up and shook his head, looking…  _ amused? _ No, that couldn’t be right…

“Trust me, my young Padawan, we do  _ not _ need to go into her room right now.”

Anakin’s mouth fell open. His heart was racing and his breath was shaking, so strong was the ache coming through the Force. “But -”

“She is fine.” Obi-Wan’s tone was very firm then, and his eyes were wide with confidence. He licked his lips as though they’d suddenly gone very dry. “Lie back down, Anakin, and ignore it.”

“Ignore it?” Anakin shut off his lightsaber and tucked it into his belt, furrowing his brows at Obi-Wan as he sank onto the edge of his bed. He tilted his head in confusion. Obi-Wan was keeping something from him. “What’s the matter with her?”

Obi-Wan shut his eyes and dragged his fingertips over his beard. “I need you to defer to me now and not argue, Anakin. I assure you that the Senator is… she’s fine.”

Then, all of a sudden, Anakin understood. In one horrifying instant, he understood. Obi-Wan Kenobi recognized that the stress coming from Padmé in the Force was not fear or danger, because he had felt that same pulse from her himself. It wasn’t terror, but it was something just as powerful - possibly more so. Padmé was ‘fine.’ That was what Obi-Wan had said, and he’d said it in a way that indicated he was intimately familiar with just how ‘fine’ Padmé could be. 

Perhaps she was in her room with an old acquaintance from Naboo. Or perhaps she was alone, thinking of Obi-Wan Kenobi. But it was clear now that the sensation roiling through Padmé’s Force signature was arousal.

“Master, have you and...” Anakin began quietly, struggling to sound controlled. Obi-Wan raised his eyes to his pupil, looking resigned to the question he knew was coming. Anakin managed to choke out the rest. “Have you and Padmé been together while I’ve on Coruscant?”

Obi-Wan pinched his lips and stroked his fingers over his beard. Anakin felt a fresh surge of pressure through the Force, and Obi-Wan winced as he registered it, too. Finally, Obi-Wan said quietly,

“Well, of course we have ‘ _ been together. _ ’ We have been more or less alone with one another for days. But if you’re asking what I think you are asking…” Obi-Wan lowered his face for a moment and laughed softly, “Given your level of suspicion, my young Padawan, you might be surprised by just how very  _ not _ together I’ve been with the Senator.”

Anakin’s breath quickened in his nostrils, now because of the anger that had spiked in his veins. He felt his chest crumple, too, with a very unwelcome sensation. He was hurt. He was wounded by the idea that his master and the girl he’d wanted for years might be attracted to one another. Anakin couldn’t be sure that Obi-Wan wasn’t lying, either. It was quite likely that the two of them had done something terrible together. Now, more than ever, it was very clear that Obi-Wan was deeply affected by the arousal coming through the Force from Padmé. His fingers were tightening around his knees, and his face stared at the floor as he murmured,

“I… I’m going to meditate.”

“Need to get the memories of her moaning out of your head, Master Kenobi?” Anakin sneered impulsively, and Obi-Wan raised his face with an expression of shock. The Jedi Knight’s eyes flashed, and then he looked as though the boy had driven him straight through with a lightsaber. He rose to his feet and walked a few steps across the room. There was warning in his voice then as he said,

“Anakin, you are allowing an utter illusion to rob you of your senses. You must stop perseverating on Padmé Amidala.”

“Forgive me, Master. I will try to do as you say, but it is impossible not to notice the hypocrisy.” Anakin folded his arms over his chest, blinking slowly and trying hard to ignore the way the throb from Padmé’s room was growing more insistent. Anakin gave a derisive little laugh and said in a cruel tone, “She’s not good at keeping quiet, is she? Even when she says nothing at all.”

“Be silent, my young Padawan!” Obi-Wan’s voice shook just on the edge of control, his tone more harsh than Anakin had ever heard it. Obi-Wan shook his head quickly and folded his arms into the sleeves of his brown robe. When he spoke again, it seemed like he’d somehow steadied himself. Anakin felt a spike of envy for his master’s abilities with meditation; there was no way he could have calmed himself right now. 

“A Jedi must never feel possessive of another person, Anakin. This is essential,” Obi-Wan said. “For all either of us know, Padmé Amidala is enjoying the company of some dashing young palace guard in that room right now.”

Anakin flinched, but Obi-Wan gave him a very meaningful look.

“That  _ must _ be an acceptable thing for the Senator to be doing in your mind, Anakin. Otherwise, you are being possessive. Otherwise, you are being jealous. You may find her pretty, and you may want her. But it is another thing entirely to want her  _ for yourself _ . Do you understand the difference?”

“I understand, Master.” Anakin felt his eyes burn, which embarrassed him. He had very rarely cried in front of Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he was not anxious for one of those times to be because of a girl. A woman. A politician. 

He tried to distance himself mentally from her, to remove himself from the possessive cravings that seared in his veins. It didn’t really work, and he groaned softly in frustration when the throbbing twinge in the Force accelerated. Whatever Padmé was doing, she was enjoying it so much now that the Jedi who had attuned themselves to her could practically feel it themselves. Anakin watched as Obi-Wan’s cheeks darkened, as his arms tightened around each other and he began to pace. His master, it seemed, was even more affected by the sensation than Anakin. Then, suddenly, the pressure abated, giving way to a profound sense of peace.

It was obscene, once Anakin realized what had happened. He would not have paid so much attention to Padmé’s signature in the Force if he’d known what he would be coerced to endure. It might have been an arousing experience to vicariously feel Padmé’s pleasure, except that Anakin had such a strong suspicion of something brewing between his mentor and the woman. Anakin felt an unwanted straining in his trousers that made him acutely uncomfortable, a cruel reward for having felt a shadow of what Padmé had. He turned away from Obi-Wan as his master said gently,

“Sit on your bed and meditate until morning. I will do the same. Neither of us is fit to speak further on this matter now.”

Anakin folded himself atop the brocade blankets of his bed, which suddenly felt stupidly ornamental. He shut his eyes and tried not to feel betrayed. It took a long while and a lot of effort, but finally Anakin felt his mind give way, as though the floor had dropped out from beneath him. Then he was wrapped in the comforting embrace of an empty black ether, and there was no more thought of treachery.

  
  


“Good morning.” 

“Obi-Wan.” Padmé turned to face Obi-Wan, her heavy black velvet gown dragging on the marble floors as she crossed the ornate dining room. Droids and serving staff were setting up a luxurious breakfast at the long table in the center of the room, which Obi-Wan noticed had been set for three. He hesitated for a moment, and then he said,

“Anakin will not be joining us. He is already on his way back to Coruscant.”

Padmé’s eyebrows flew up, but she nodded and glanced at the others in the room. Obi-Wan could tell that she was carefully choosing her words and tone then as she said, “I see. No matter. GG-7, would you mind clearing one of the table settings, please?”

The serving droid turned to Padmé at the sound of her name, and she chirped happily, “Gladly, Senator.”

Obi-Wan frowned at the way that even the droids addressed Padmé by her title here. He looked straight at Padmé and said seriously, “We need to leave Theed as expeditiously as possible. There is no secrecy for you here.”

Padmé nodded and lowered her voice. “I know. But I am also hesitant to go back to the lake retreat. I wonder whether it might not be smarter for us to go somewhere else entirely and not to communicate our travel intentions.”

Obi-Wan gave her a knowing nod. She didn’t want anyone knowing where they were going, not even Anakin. Obi-Wan could hardly blame her. From the sounds of things, the investigation on Coruscant was proceeding languidly, and far too many individuals right now knew that Padmé was on Naboo.

She flicked her eyes around the dining room again and murmured very quietly, “The Queen informed me this morning that there is a large freighter leaving for Bellassa this afternoon. A refugee transfer from a dying system in the Outer Rim. A few months ago, I privately negotiated with the senator from Bellassa for these refugees to be housed in their cities, where the environment is more suitable for some of the species. They’re here for a quick transfer, and we can get on the freighter.”

Obi-Wan scoffed, looking out the windows at the tranquil planet and wondering just how it could possibly be considered ‘inhospitable.’ Just the same, it made sense for them to go to a faraway city, where they stood a chance of getting lost in the swarming multitude.

“Refugees again, then,” he said to Padmé. Then he tipped his head and added, “No golden veils this time. You need to look genuinely wretched.”

She smirked. “I shall try. I promise.”

  
  


“Is there anything else I may get for you, ma’am?” The LEP servant droid’s voice used a strange cadence and pitch as it set down Padmé’s luggage. She looked around the suite in the Eclipse hotel, thinking that the city of Ussa was one of the most beautiful she’d ever seen. She turned to the LEP droid and said politely,

“No, thank you. We’ll be fine. You can tell the other staff and droids not to come unless summoned, if you please.”

“Certainly. Please do not hesitate to notify hotel staff of your slightest need. Everyone at the Eclipse seeks to ensure that your stay is comfortable and luxurious.”

“Too much comfort breeds laziness, you know,” Obi-Wan said smartly from beside Padmé. She snickered a bit, for the poor droid couldn’t pick up on Obi-Wan’s sarcasm.

“Is that so, sir?” the droid, hummed. “How interesting. Good day.” They watched the LEP droid waddle out of their suite, and as soon as the door had hissed shut, Padmé sank into the stylish white chair in the corner.

“Please forgive my ill manners, Master Kenobi, but if I do not get these shoes off, I think I will cry.” She growled a bit as she yanked the elaborately embroidered shoes she wore. They had square, platform heels in the style of the Core World elite, and they had been one piece of Padmé’s camouflage since disembarking the refugee freighter. She had deliberately brought clothing to Bellassa that would blend in with the local fashion. Padmé found that everyday Bellassa fashion was lovely, almost ethereal, and she had to confess that she was quite fond of the airy silver-white dress she wore. It was made a delicate tulle into which were sewn the tiniest seed pearls Padmé had ever seen. A diaphanous cape flowed down her back, along with her hair, which she’d left long in the way the Bellassa women did. 

But... the shoes. The damned shoes, with their very impractical heels and their pinching construction, had been torture for hours now. Padmé rubbed at her ankles and feet, and she murmured up to Obi-Wan,

“The service here is exceptional. I’m sure the LEP droids could get a second bed brought up very shortly for you, Master Kenobi, if that would make you more comfortable.”

“I think that would make it a bit obvious that we are not the married couple we declared ourselves to be upon check-in. Or, it would at least trigger a flurry of whispers about the unhappily married couple in Suite 17.” His face was kind as he half-smiled and surveyed the rooms. He looked very handsome, she thought, in his own disguise - a pair of beige breeches with stylish brown boots, and a fashionably-cut jacket with a high neck and leather detailing at the shoulders. Obi-Wan ambled through the suite, jerking his head toward the little sitting area as he told Padmé, “I will be perfectly fine on this clean, cushy floor. No need to arouse suspicion in the hotel staff.”

“You are not going to sleep on the floor,” Padmé said, rolling her eyes as she rose from the white chair. She was frustrated, all of a sudden. For many days now, she and Obi-Wan had been like a moon and a planet. They were drawn together, yet pushed just far enough away to keep from colliding. Padmé was tired of orbiting. She wanted to collide.

“I saw an advertisement for a restaurant in the Bluestone District that claims it has the best pulpfish filet in the galaxy. I know a place on Hosnian Prime that would call those fighting words, but I’m willing to give it a fair shake. Shall I call down for a taxi speeder?” Obi-Wan’s vibrant blue eyes studied Padmé’s for a moment, looking uncertain. She felt her mouth drop open, feeling her heart flutter a bit at the idea of going to a restaurant alone with him. It shouldn’t have been so exciting, but it was. Just as quickly as Padmé’s anticipation grew, though, it was smothered. 

“On second thought,” Obi-Wan said quickly, walking briskly to a menu of services on the small desk, “It is probably unwise to go to such a public place if it isn’t necessary. And then, there is the matter of your feet. Of the shoes… the discomfort from the shoes.”

Padmé wasn’t sure whether she ought to laugh or cry at the flustered way Obi-Wan was acting now, so she did neither. She watched him flip through the holo menu, and she said quietly,

“We can just have the staff deliver food here. That will be fine. I’m going to take a bit of time in the ‘fresher, if you don’t mind. Can you order dinner?”

“What would you like to eat?” Obi-Wan asked as Padmé opened the door to the luxurious refresher. She shrugged and tried not to look too hard at the way his jacket showed his form. 

“I’m not picky,” she insisted. “You can choose for me. I trust you.”

His face was odd after she said those last three words, almost as though she’d hurt him by saying such a thing. But he nodded silently and made a move for the service comlink, so Padmé slipped into the ‘fresher and closed the door. 

_ ‘Obi-Wan! Look out!’ _

_ Padmé struggled against the heavy shackles that bound her wrists and ankles to the wall. She could not free herself to get to Obi-Wan. From all around them, the red glow and the heat of the lava gave the scene a hellish atmosphere. Obi-Wan turned his head at Padmé’s warning. He rose his lightsaber toward the newest onslaught of battle droids, which marched in clean formation toward him with their blasters aimed at his chest.  _

_ He was all alone in fighting them, and they seemed very determined to kill him. One droid fired a blaster shot, which ricocheted off of Obi-Wan’s blue lightsaber when he blocked it. Then another droid fired, and another and another, until there was an unceasing volley of light shooting toward Obi-Wan. He blocked all the shots somehow, with almost superhuman speed and agility. He was leaping and dodging, swinging his lightsaber to block the shots as though he knew about them before they happened. It would have been a beautiful thing to watch under different circumstances. His skill was miraculous. _

_ But then one of the battle droids turned to its left and said, ‘Secondary target acquired.’ The droid raised its blaster toward Padmé, and she realized she was about to die. Then the droid collapsed into a heap of clanging metal, for Obi-Wan had seen it take aim at Padmé, and he had struck. He’d cut the droid in two with his lightsaber, and he raised his blue eyes to Padmé as he said gently, _

_ “Wake up, Padmé.” _

_ He was no longer blocking the blaster fire now, and a curious thing started happening. Shots began to hit him, one by one. Instead of crumpling down on impact, though, Obi-Wan seemed to be falling asleep where he stood. It was as though every blaster shot was leeching some of the life out of him. Somehow he still stood, clutching his lightsaber. His eyes, now dull with exhaustion, met Padmé’s again as she ripped at her shackles. His voice was weak and distant now. _

“Wake up, Padmé...”

She jolted awake, her eyes springing open as she flung upward in bed. She gasped for air like she’d been drowning. She was about to call out to Obi-Wan that it had only been another awful nightmare, that there was no need to turn on his weapon and panic. 

But he was already there. He was kneeling beside her bed, and it took a moment for Padmé to realize that his hands were already on her. He was dragging the pad of one thumb beneath her eye, wiping away the tears that had come during her tormented sleep, and his other arm had laced protectively around her waist.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, his lovely eyes looking very sad. 

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé said in a shaking voice. She shuddered and clutched at his face. “You were… there was lava, and so many droids, and you were fighting them all by yourself, and I couldn’t… I was stuck, and I… but you…”

He shook his head and narrowed the space between them, shifting on his knees. “That was only in your sleep, Padmé. It’s all right. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He leaned forward to kiss her - just a gentle brush of his lips on hers. Padmé whimpered against his mouth, knowing she sounded like a child and not much caring. His fingers worked their way into her hair and soothed her scalp, and his other hand rubbed gently at her back.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, kissing her more deeply for a moment.

Padmé felt fresh tears rush to her eyes at once, for in his face and his words, she detected no lust. She felt only emotion - only the sort of emotion Jedi were not permitted to feel. She started to genuinely cry, to shake and gasp. Her nose was running, tears were flowing freely down her cheeks, and it got worse by the second, because of how Obi-Wan Kenobi reacted. He did not recoil at her sudden and uncharacteristic explosion of tears.

He just kissed her, carefully and gently. He might have been meaning to soothe her tears away, but it only made Padmé cry harder.

She had never intended to look into his eyes and feel her stomach flutter. She had never meant to go slack at his touch or to find herself exchanging playful smiles with him. She had certainly never thought that her most distressing nightmares would involve him dying while protecting her.

“Hold me, please,” she managed to whisper after a while, and Obi-Wan obeyed at once. He rose from his knees, and Padmé slithered to her right beneath her blankets. Then he really was there, leaning against the elaborate metal bed frame with her pillow behind his back. He was cradling Padmé to his bare chest, and she was holding onto him like he was a raft in a churning sea. His hands rubbed gently around her shoulders and arms, and every once in a while, he lowered his face to kiss her hair.

The silence between them was entirely too comfortable, and they both knew it. Padmé curled her leg over Obi-Wan’s hip after a while, and she realized that his loose sleeping trousers did not hold the insistent hardness she’d felt from him on Naboo. No, she knew. None of this was lust. 

As if he’d read her mind, Obi-Wan murmured down to her, “If all I wanted was to touch you, Padmé, it wouldn’t be so bad. The problem is that I need to feel you. There is… there is quite a difference.”

“I know there is,” Padmé nodded against him, shutting her eyes and listening to the thrum of his heart. She wondered if his hurt as badly as hers did. She wondered if she ought to have sent him back to Coruscant after all, for both of their own good. She looked up at him, reaching to drag her fingertips over his red-gold bears, and she whispered, “I don’t want to ruin your life.”

He quirked up half his mouth and shut his eyes, looking as though he were both in pain and amused. He shook his head and insisted, “No. You could never, even if you tried.”

She shut her eyes again and focused on his steady breath, on the warmth that came from his body, on how wonderful it was to be this close to him. She felt him touch his lips to her forehead, felt him pet her hair for a minute, and then she heard him murmur,

“Go to sleep, Padmé. I will keep the chaos from your mind. Just rest.”

She was too tired to answer, but she believed him. She could feel his hands stroking her, could feel some sort of pleasant pulse between them, and she knew he was telling the truth. He would protect her sleep using some power Padmé could not comprehend. He would do it because he was gentle and kind and wonderful, and Padmé wished distantly that she had had the courage to tell him that she was falling in love with him. But it was too late; her mind had given way to sleep.

  
  
  


The sunlight was very strong coming through the hotel windows, and Obi-Wan should have closed the electrochromic blinds the night before. That was the first thing he realized when his eyes blinked open.

The second thing he realized was that he was completely entangled with  Padmé Amidala. When he’d last been awake, he’d been propped up against a pillow with her cradled on his chest. Now they were both lying down, facing one another, woven into a kind of human braid. One of Padmé’s arms was cast around Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and he was hugging her close around her waist. Their legs were tangled with all four of their feet in a bundle. Her hair tickled his chest a bit, and she had burrowed her forehead against his sternum.

Obi-Wan had never felt anything so blissful in all his life. It also felt profoundly dangerous. After he’d fallen asleep, his body had instinctively meshed with hers. At his core, he needed to be near her, to hold her and feel her, and that fact should have set alarms off in Obi-Wan’s mind. Instead, he breathed in her warm scent and pulled her closer than ever. She raised her face slowly at the motion, her brown eyes blinking open and staring at him for a moment. Obi-Wan was not sure what to say, so he said nothing at all.

Neither did Padmé, who just looked at him as she planted a few kisses on his chest. That did not help the feeling of arousal between Obi-Wan’s legs, and he grunted quietly as he shifted. It was normal and natural, of course, for a man to wake with an erection, but his was only getting more insistent as Padmé’s hand drifted down his arm. She sucked in air when he moved a little and she felt his hardness on her leg, and Obi-Wan shut his eyes.

“It will pass,” he assured her. “Most… most men wake like this.”

“Most men wake up holding a woman who thinks  _ very _ fondly of them?” Padmé asked skeptically, and Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered back open as he took in her words. Her face was solemn, and she reached between them and rather confidently stroked him through his trousers. Obi-Wan gasped and pulled his hips back a bit, starting to shake his head. But Padmé had propped herself up onto her elbow now, and she murmured, “Tell me whether this is a mere function of your anatomy, or whether you actually want me.”

Obi-Wan could not help but laugh a bit. “It’s both,” he said honestly, his teeth plunging into his lip as he felt her fingers at the waistband of his trousers. Oh,  _ yes. _ He wanted her. He wanted her so badly that his breath was catching strangely in his chest and his fingers were shaking as he dragged them up her back. He thought about putting a stop to it all, the way he’d done on Naboo. This was about to spiral out of control, he knew. But then he realized that his physical want for Padmé was the very least forbidden part of the whole mess. His hand tightened on her back.

Padmé rolled herself a bit then, and Obi-Wan turned onto his back as she straddled his hips and looked down at him. She was very pretty like this, with her curly hair a bit wild around her head and cheeks starting to go pink. He couldn’t move as she peeled her pale green peignoir from her shoulders and dropped it onto the floor, and he couldn’t move when she made a move for the hem of her matching silk nightgown. Obi-Wan shut his eyes and gulped, because all he could think about now was the way her breasts were so visible through the material of her nightgown and how badly he wanted to feel her skin there.

“Obi-Wan,” she murmured, “will you look at me?”

He sighed, feeling her fingers dance over his bare chest. He forced his eyes open, and Padmé shifted her hips against his erection. 

“A good diplomat never begs,” Padmé said in a soft tone. “A good diplomat negotiates. You put a stop to… to  _ this _ on Naboo. I’d like to negotiate terms with you to ensure that… that you don’t put a stop to it today.”

Obi-Wan scoffed, feeling his chest clench at the sight of her serious words mingling with the uncertain quirk of her lips. He squeezed her hands in his and nodded, knowing that it was useless to fight her off anymore. It would do no good to try to save himself now. He was already lost.

But Padmé looked a bit less certain then, as she ground her hips against his and chewed her lip. She laughed lightly and said, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I will require some guidance. I don’t want to make myself look foolish.”

“You look anything but foolish right now,” Obi-Wan assured her. He let his hands drift on her thighs, making her shiver a bit, and he mumbled, “You look very beautiful right now. Even more than you usually do.”

Padmé surprised him then by pulling her nightgown up and over her head. It joined her peignoir on the ground, and then she was atop him in nothing but her underwear. She pulled Obi-Wan’s hands up to her chest and encouraging him to cup her breasts. She flashed him a look that was almost questioning. Obi-Wan felt a groan being pulled from the bottom of his throat as he felt the soft, pillowy flesh of her small but shapely chest. He caressed her, squeezing slightly and pulling his fingers over her hardening nipples. Padmé sighed and arched her back a little, rolling her hips and making Obi-Wan’s cock twitch beneath her.

“Oh, kriffing stars.” Padmé’s face twisted a little at the friction between them, and Obi-Wan struggled not to laugh at the sound of her profanity. She was coming apart at the seams just as surely as he was.

“Will you lie on your back?” Obi-Wan asked, suddenly wanting to touch her more carefully. Padmé’s eyes went wide, as though the gravity of it all had finally settled into her veins. But she acceded to his request, shifting off of his hips and leaving him with an extremely evident bulge in his loose trousers. She settled on her back, her fingers twining nervously in her curls as her breath shook through her lips. Obi-Wan hovered beside her, touching his lips to her forehead and whispering carefully, “There is nothing at all for you to fear right now, you know. You need only hint that I stop, and I will stop.”

“I’m not going to ask you to stop,” Padmé said confidently, her wide brown eyes meeting his. Obi-Wan tried to be delicate in asking the question that had to be addressed.

“Do you… are you protected in any way?”

He hoped she knew what he meant, and a look of realization did come over her eyes. “They gave me an implant when I was younger. Just in case.”

Obi-Wan knew that it was common practice for women to be have a tiny implant placed in their arms upon reaching physical maturity. The device was an indefinite and completely reliable way to prevent unwanted pregnancy, but it could easily be removed later in life. Discussing such a thing with Padmé just now might have killed the momentum of what they were doing, had they both been less rational people. Instead, it seemed to further cut their mental binds, to set them both just a little more free.

Before Obi-Wan knew what was happening, he had begun to kiss her breast. He wondered distantly whether his beard scratched her skin. If it did, Padmé expressed no discomfort. Instead, she arched her back, and her fingers tangled into Obi-Wan’s hair. He hooked his hand under the waistband of her underwear, and she shimmied a bit as he pulled them down. He pulled his head from her chest and stared at her face as a fierce hunger took him over.

“Are you cold?” he asked, for some distant scrap of decency in his brain realized the suite was a bit chilly and she was naked. But Padmé shook her head, her hands still in his hair, and she whispered,

“Will you touch me here?”

She guided his fingers between her legs, and Obi-Wan felt his mouth drop open as he tried not to stare too hard. He had trouble breathing then, or thinking, or doing much other than feel her. She was warm and soft, and already very wet. He traced slow circles around the outside of her womanhood with his fingers, watching her face as she reacted. She gasped and grabbed at the sheets, and Obi-Wan gradually increased the pressure of his touch. He slid one finger inside of her, and then another when she did not protest. His thumb worked around her nub as he slowly twisted and hooked his fingers. Padmé squeezed her eyes shut and licked her lips, her hands tightening on his scalp as she murmured,

“I like that.”

Obi-Wan liked it, too, so much that his erection now almost hurt. He shifted where he lay, trying to ignore the insistent pulse between his legs. As if she’d sensed his body’s urgency, Padmé opened her eyes and gave him a warm smile. Her hands moved from his hair down to his shoulders and squeezed a little, which felt very nice indeed. She brushed her fingers down his back, around his ribs to his stomach, and then she pulled on the tie holding his trousers around his waist. Obi-Wan groaned again, knowing he sounded feral and not caring. His fingers twitched on her silken folds as she toyed with his waistband. Finally he shut his eyes and mumbled,

“Should I take them off?”

“Yes. I think you should,” Padmé answered. Obi-Wan sat up a bit as he pulled his hand from her and used shaking fingers to shove his clothes away. He resettled himself above her, feeling her knees touch his waist as she brought her legs up around him. The tip of his cock brushed her wet entrance, which made him hiss and her whimper. Her hands clamped around his biceps, as if she were going to fall from a great height without him. 

“It might hurt a little,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I will be as gentle as I can.”

Padmé’s fingers curled more tightly around his arms, and she nodded as she stared up at him.  _ Stars _ , but she was beautiful, Obi-Wan thought. In her wide brown eyes, he could see all her intelligence, all her bravery. He could see the underlying current of compassion that flowed in her soul. And he could see, so plainly that it almost frightened him, that she loved him a little bit. 

He reached between them and guided himself into her cinching, wet warmth. Padmé did a very convincing job of hiding her physical discomfort as Obi-Wan edged his hips forward. If not for the wild flash in her eyes and the spike of pain in the Force, Obi-Wan would not have known that it had hurt. But he could feel her more completely, probably, than many others would have been able to do. So he petted her hair and propped himself on one elbow, rocking very slowly as he whispered,

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

“No.” Padmé shook her head, still holding his arms for dear life. “No. Don’t stop.”

Obi-Wan found a rhythm then, rocking his hips smoothly against hers as he cupped her face in his hand. She was so warm, he thought. Warm and tight around him, as though he was  _ supposed _ to be inside of her. He hadn’t realized, he supposed, how very long he’d been without a real home until he found one there with Padmé. He certainly had not known, until right this minute, how badly he had needed someone else. For what felt like a very pleasant eternity, Obi-Wan pushed his hips forward and then pulled back. In and out. In and out. It was like breathing, but so much better. Wet and warm and sweet and  _ home _ .

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé whispered, her eyes searching his desperately and her hands going around him to press against his back. She breathed very deeply a few times, and her cheeks flushed scarlet. Then her lovely eyes fluttered shut and her lips shook. Obi-Wan felt the same surge of gratification in the Force that he’d sensed from her that last night on Naboo. He grunted softly and slowed his hips when felt her clenching around him. Her fingers dug into the skin of his back, and then he heard her say,

“Stop holding back, Obi-Wan. I can feel you holding back. Empty yourself into me.”

She did not mean those last four words to be vulgar, Obi-Wan realized. The double entendre was still there, but what she’d really meant was for him to let forth the flood that was threatening his old and sturdy dam. She was right. Even now, as he began to rock his hips again, Obi-Wan could feel the tense barrier that he’d made for himself in his mind. It was like a screen before him, protecting his integrity from problematic intrusions like affection. And Padmé was very right. If he didn’t let that shield down, he would never actually feel her.

He shut his eyes and called forth the skills he’d honed over the years in self-awareness and meditation. He focused hard on the feel of her body beneath him, on the feel of her warm sheath holding him snug. He reached out into the Force and perceived her presence as a swirling ball of luminous heat. She was like a star unto herself, a radiant presence that reined in everything about it with an authoritative beauty. 

“Obi-Wan,” he heard her whisper again, and he could feel her hands on his face. Her fingers were drifting over his beard, up to his cheeks and into his hair. He opened his eyes and saw that she was arching beneath him again as his hips thrust more firmly. She was tensing like a string about to break again, and Obi-Wan groaned helplessly as he felt himself coming undone. Her legs tightened around his waist, her ankles hooking behind her back as he quickened his movements. Her breasts were swaying elegantly as she was ground against the sheets, and a delicate sheen had appeared on her forehead.

“Kiss me, please,” she murmured up at him, sounding almost intoxicated as she blinked slowly.

“I taste like sleep in the worst way right now, I assure you,” he muttered, shaking his head and smirking a little. His hips were jerking more erratically now, as the tension in his abdomen coiled and built like a fire being stoked.

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé said more resolutely, gasping as she drove her head back against the pillow. Her curls flared about her like a wild halo, and her hands clutched at the blankets as she demanded again, “Please kiss me.”

He did as she said. He pressed his lips to hers, and he felt her breasts against his heaving chest as the planes of their bodies went flush together. Then it all detonated, and Obi-Wan tore his mouth from Padmé’s. He sat up and let out an embarrassingly savage growl. His fingers were knotted in her hair, and he could feel his seed pumping into her as his mind went black and hot. There was nothing at all for a moment - nothing except for her.

He finally pulled his softening member from her, acutely aware of the obscene way a trail of wetness followed him from her body. Somehow he managed to roll onto his back and pull Padmé against his heaving chest. She wrapped her leg around his hips and draped her arm over his chest, and they lay like that for so long that Obi-Wan almost wondered if she had fallen asleep.

He stared at the far wall, which was unadorned except for some artwork of a craggy mountain scene. His fingers drifted around her arm and her back, but all he could think about was how he had crossed a line and could never go back. He had fallen in love, and there could be no erasing that stain now.

“You’re somewhere else,” Padmé noted softly, and Obi-Wan shut his eyes. Padmé’s hand pressed against his chest, and she said in a knowing tone, “You’re distraught over this because possession is forbidden for the Jedi.”

“Lucky, then, that you do not belong to me,” Obi-Wan said in a rather blank voice. Padmé sighed quietly, and he felt her move to rise from the bed. He opened his eyes when he felt her physical absence, and it was everything he could do to stay silent at the sight of her standing naked beside the bed.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said resolutely. “And then I think I would like to go for a long walk in the Commons. It’s a grassy park in the center of the city, and I’d like to see it.”

Obi-Wan sat up and dragged his fingers through his hair. He nodded once at Padmé. He was still her bodyguard, after all, as appointed by the Jedi Council. No sin they committed could undo the reason why they were here. Someone had tried to kill Padmé Amidala more than once, and it was Obi-Wan’s duty to keep her alive. But if she wanted to take a walk in a park, then he would walk with her in a park.

Like all products made from the fruit of the same name, namana liquor induced a feeling of deep euphoria in those who imbibed it. It was for this reason that Anakin Skywalker chose a glass of the stuff when he ordered at Saludi’s. The cantina was known for the sordid deeds of its questionable customers, and tonight Anakin was happy to be counted among them. He swigged at the namana liquor before him, which was sickly sweet but had at least served its purpose of dissolving his troubles. Anakin could hardly remember why it was he’d been upset when he came in. Something about his mission to investigate the assassination attempts on the Senator from Naboo. The investigation wasn’t going well. Anakin couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Oh, but you’re far too sweet-faced to be in a place like this,” said a smooth female voice from beside him. Anakin set down his glass of namana liquor and smiled at the pretty woman who had taken the next seat at the bar. She was tall and thin, with a short metallic dress that showed off her endless legs. Her skin was dark and smooth, and her braided black hair hung heavily over one shoulder. Her eyes glittered as she seemed to take in Anakin’s surveillance of her form. 

“See something you like?” she asked provocatively, and then Anakin realized she was a prostitute. He didn’t care. She was very pretty. He nodded.

“My name is Era’omok. What did you say your name was?” the young woman raised her eyebrows, and Anakin smirked.

“I didn’t. It’s Anakin.”

“I’ve got a place not far from here,” Era’omok informed him. She jerked her head toward his glass and said gently, “Finish your drink and come with me.”

Anakin emptied the glass of namana liquor into his mouth. The next few hours were a blur. He followed the Era’omok to an apartment building across the street, and they took a turbolift up many stories. Their clothes wound up in a pile on the floor, and the namana liquor was so deep into Anakin’s veins that he moved purely on instinct from then on. Era’omok was warm and gentle with him in his inexperience, which he would later count as some small comfort.

He made his way back to his quarters at the Jedi Temple in a taxi speeder, knowing that even Anakin Skywalker could not pilot a ship when he was this drunk. He could have used his powers in the Force to sober himself up, but he had very little inclination to do so. As he kicked off his boots and yanked off his tunics, Anakin felt a strange twinge in the Force. It was a sort of fear, a panic, a pain. It leeched into his mind and ate into the euphoria from the namana liquor.

Anakin shut his eyes and wobbled where he stood. He searched in the Force for the sensation, wondering whether his mind was tricking him in his drunken state. The sense of dread and pain grew stronger and more insistent, but still Anakin could not trace it. A tiny part of him wished that Obi-Wan was here so that Anakin could enlist his master’s help, but then Anakin remembered that he was currently very angry with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Agony. Twisting, wrenching, physical agony. Pain. Death.

His mother.

Anakin’s eyes flew open and his intoxication gave way to the panic flushing through his veins. He took a moment and used the Force to clear his head, and he honed in on the awful feeling again.

Torture. Misery and tears. Screaming and fire. His mother.

Anakin wrenched his boots onto his feet and yanked his tunics back on. He snatched his lightsaber and thrust it into his belt, and he dashed from his quarters. As he trotted through the hallways, he worked to further clear his mind. He would need to be sober if he was going to pilot his own ship to Tatooine.

  
  


“And then the Padawan must go through a series of trials before advancing to the rank of a Jedi Knight.” Obi-Wan glanced down to Padmé as his boots crunched on the gravel path beneath his feet. “The trials are intended to sift out those who do not possess the resolve or strength to operate fully as a Jedi. Much as he longs to leave behind the life of a Padawan, Anakin is not quite ready; I can tell in my own way. He will be soon enough.”

Padmé nodded and squinted at Obi-Wan as they walked. The sunlight on Bellassa was not hot at all, but it was almost blindingly bright. The Commons, a lovely grassy expanse through which wound ribbons of walking trails, had turned out to be quite a sight. For their walk in the Commons, Padmé had opted for an airy tulle gown of pale pink with heavy red embroidery up the skirts and over the shoulders. But under the skirts, she wore practical shoes she’d brought from Naboo. Disguises be damned; she could not walk in the shoes from Bellassa.

“What did you have to do for your trials?” she asked Obi-Wan. “Or can you not tell me?”

He looked thoughtful and hesitated, and then he scratched at his beard as he said, “Strictly speaking, I did not have to complete the trials.”

“Why not?” Padmé asked curiously. Obi-Wan’s blue eyes looked strained for a moment then, and he ambled from the path toward a thick tree. He leaned against the tree trunk and folded his arms over his chest.

“I’m sure you remember a certain Dathomirian Sith Lord?” he prompted, and Padmé felt her eyebrows go up. 

“Darth Maul? What of him?” 

The first time she’d met Obi-Wan Kenobi, ten years earlier, he had helped save her planet from destruction. For that, Padmé would forever be grateful. She could still see the terrifying red and black face of Darth Maul. She knew - she had learned after all the mess - that it had been Obi-Wan Kenobi who had killed the Sith Lord. The villain had struck down Kenobi’s master first, but apparently Obi-Wan had bravely defeated Darth Maul in lightsaber combat.

“The Jedi Council decided immediately after the Battle of Naboo to confer the rank of Knight upon me. In light of my having killed a Sith.” Obi-Wan dragged his teeth over his lip and said thoughtfully, “I think I might have preferred the trials, but it all happens how it’s meant to, I suppose.”

“The people of Naboo owe their lives and happiness to you,” Padmé said quietly. “ _ I _ owe my life and happiness to you, too.” She reached for his hand and dragged her thumb along the inside of his wrist. She heard him suck in breath, and she met his vibrant blue eyes as the leaves overhead rustled and sent dappled shadowing over him.

“I was only doing… I did exactly what I’d been raised to do. There was no heroism in it. I assure you.” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked a little, and Padmé swallowed heavily.

“Are you very angry with me?” she asked, and Obi-Wan slowly shook his head.

“No, Padmé. I am frustrated with myself. What transpired this morning was only the culmination of a long stretch of misconduct on my part. My mind has betrayed me, I think.”

“Not your mind. Your heart, perhaps,” Padmé said sadly. It was difficult to hear the way his voice was empty of its usual sarcastic bite. She sighed and turned to look at the lake. The bright sunlight glinted on the little ripples the breeze sent across the water. It was peaceful here. A tiny corner of Padmé’s head wanted Anakin Skywalker to take his sweet time solving the mystery of the assassination attempts. Then she could stay here with Obi-Wan. That was a selfish thing to think, of course, and a foolish thing to think. Padmé sighed again and stared at the water as she murmured,

“I feel too safe here. My life is not safe, but you make me feel safe. How is it that you manage to do that, Master Kenobi?” She turned around and looked at him, and he pulled himself from the trunk of the tree.

“I was commanded to keep you alive, Senator.”

“That is very different from making me feel safe,” she noted. Obi-Wan took her face in his hands, and Padmé could have melted into him as his blue eyes bored into hers. His mouth quirked halfway up, and he kissed her carefully. When he pulled away, Padmé was dizzy and wanted more. The path was deserted, and it was a long way up the grassy hill beside them to the main part of the park. She wanted him to kiss her again and again, right here in the open. But she knew, deep down, that his one kiss had said everything he needed to just now. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

 

Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eyes sprang open and his hand clenched around his lightsaber. He was on his feet in a flash, and from behind him he heard  Padmé’s voice, nervous and heavy with sleep.

“What’s going on?”

Obi-Wan turned around with his finger to his lips to silence her. He pressed his thumb to his lightsaber hilt to activate it, and he stalked forward slowly. He had been ripped from his sleep by a strong feeling of danger in the Force, and as he moved through the hotel suite, he could feel that he and Padmé were not alone. Obi-Wan took a slow breath, reaching out and trying to locate the threat. He held his lightsaber up and behind his head at an sharp angle, his other hand out and seeking in the darkness. The tickle of danger started to become a burn, and Obi-Wan scowled.

“Turn the lights on, Padmé,” he murmured, and a few seconds later, the suite was bathed in a delicate white light. As if cued by the light, a pair of vibrant green hands appeared around the corner near the closet. The hands clutched a heavy blaster pistol, and Obi-Wan’s fingers tensed around his lightsaber. He saw the red bolt just before it appeared, thanks to his strength in the Force. When the blaster bolt hurtled through the air toward him, Obi-Wan parried it with a sharp twist of his lightsaber. He rushed forward, and the blaster fired again. Once more, Obi-Wan parried the bolt. When the red shot collided with his blue lightsaber, there was a vibrant flash of purple.

The hands clutching the heavy blaster pistol turned into an entire body as a member of the Arcona species appeared around the corner. Its wide purple eyes were cold against its triangular green head, and Obi-Wan knew at once that the creature had come to kill Padmé.

“Put the blaster down,” Obi-Wan said, warning in his voice. The Arcona sneered a bit and tipped the end of its blaster up so that he was aiming over Obi-Wan’s shoulder - toward Padmé, Obi-Wan knew. Obi-Wan felt a stab of panic go through his chest, and he lurched forward as the Arcona fired. He blocked yet another scarlet bolt from the blaster, and then his patience with the assassin evaporated. He shifted forward on his feet and slashed his lightsaber in a clean downward arc. The Arcona wrenched itself away, but not in time. Obi-Wan’s blue blade sliced neatly through the Arcona’s arm, just below the elbow. 

The blaster pistol clattered to the floor, the green hand still clutching it. The Arcona assassin writhed as he grasped the place where Obi-Wan’s lightsaber had cauterized the wound. Obi-Wan watched with curiosity as the creature swore and spat and stomped about. This was not exactly an experienced bounty hunter, Obi-Wan realized. Whomever had sent this creature had drawn from the dregs of their manpower.

“Move back,” Obi-Wan ordered, and the Arcona scowled deeply as he eyed his severed hand on the floor. The Arcona muttered something in another language. It glared up at Padmé, who had appeared beside Obi-Wan. The Arcona staggered backward then, still cradling its stump of an arm against its chest, for Padmé had lurched forward and bent to the ground. She shocked Obi-Wan by prying the fingers of the Arcona’s severed hand from the blaster pistol, which she took in her own hands. She moved back beside Obi-Wan, aiming the blaster at the Arcona. Obi-Wan granted himself a split second to marvel at Padmé’s courage, and then he looked to the Arcona and met its eerie violet eyes. Obi-Wan adjusted his hold on his lightsaber, focused his strength in the Force, and said smoothly,

“You will tell me who sent you.”

The Arcona’s eyes glazed for a moment before he said in a stilted voice, “Jango Fett. I was sent by Jango Fett.”

Obi-Wan sent another wave of influence to the Arcona through the Force and said, “You will tell me where to find this Jango Fett.”

“Kamino,” said the Arcona plainly. “South of the Rishi Maze. Wild Space. S-15.”

“I’ve never heard of such a place,” Padmé said skeptically from beside Obi-Wan. Neither had he, but the assassin came bearing extremely specific coordinates to find the planet. Before he could question the creature any further, however, it did something very foolish. As soon as Obi-Wan’s mind trick had passed, the Arcona assassin looked wild with anger, and it heaved itself forward and reached with its remaining hand for the blaster in Padmé’s hands. She gasped and fired on instinct, but the blaster bolt went soaring into the ceiling as the Arcona knocked her wrists upward.

Obi-Wan acted quickly and decisively then, because it was obvious the Arcona assassin was not here for idle chit-chat. As the green-skinned alien made another stumbling move toward Padmé, Obi-Wan arced his arm downward and leaped. His blue lightsaber plunged through the Arcona’s torso from behind, stabbing it through and eliciting a gurgling shriek. Padmé staggered backward, her eyes going wide, as Obi-Wan wrenched his lightsaber from the Arcona’s torso. The alien crumpled to the ground and groaned quietly, and then was silent. It was dead.

Padmé made a little sound of horror, but she still aimed the blaster pistol at the alien. After a moment, Obi-Wan met her eyes. 

“Thank you,” Padmé nodded seriously, and Obi-Wan frowned. His assigned duty was to protect Padmé, not to attack. And that was exactly what he’d done in eliminating the Arcona assassin, he knew. Still, the feeling of killing left a metallic taste of displeasure in his mouth. He would never like doing it. He pulled his eyes back and forth between Padmé and the dead Arcona assassin.

“We need to contact Master Yoda and the rest of the Jedi Council immediately,” he said. “If an assassin managed to track you down here, there is nowhere that is truly safe. There is a much greater sense of urgency now in getting to the bottom of all this.”

“Kamino,” Padmé said thoughtfully, echoing the Arcona’s words. “That’s where we need to go.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. “ _ We? _ No. You won’t be going anywhere near that planet if that’s where the mastermind of these assassination attempts is.”

Padmé scoffed quietly and lowered the blaster pistol. “With all respect, Master Kenobi, you’ve been assigned to guard me, not to order me about.”

“I can’t protect you if you walk straight into an ambush,” Obi-Wan argued, feeling a twinge of frustration in his veins. Not just frustration, he realized then. Possession, protectiveness. Attachment. Everything that was forbidden. He gulped and shut off his lightsaber, and he told her firmly, “I don’t want you out of my sight until all of this is solved.”

Padmé’s face went very serious then, and she asked patiently, “Are you speaking as my bodyguard, or as someone else?”

Obi-Wan’s breath shook through his teeth. She was right, of course. He was only worked up over all this because of how he felt about her. The Jedi Council would see straight through him if he couldn’t calm himself. So he nodded and glared down at the corpse of the Arcona assassin.

“Can you go get the holotransceiver from my belt?” he asked, and Padmé stalked away. A half hour later, Obi-Wan had managed to get himself dressed into his Jedi uniform, and Padmé had put on the green gown she’d worn on Naboo. The two of them sat on the sofa in the suite’s sitting area, as far removed from the dead Arcona as possible. Obi-Wan had searched the Arcona’s body but had found no communication devices. Now the holotransceiver beeped on the low table before them, and a blue holographic image appeared. It was Master Yoda and Master Windu.

“Masters,” Obi-Wan said smoothly. “I apologize if I’ve awakened you.”

“Sleeping, I was not,” Yoda said, brushing his stubby fingers through the air dismissively. His holo face turned to Padmé and said politely. “Senator Amidala. A problem, there is?”

“We are in Ussa, the capital city of Bellassa,” Padmé explained. “We came here unannounced, to try to avoid being trailed. Somehow, an assassin still managed to track us down.”

“An assassin?” Mace Windu said sharply. “Another one? What happened, Obi-Wan?”

“I was awakened by a great sense of unease. I discovered an assassin, a member of the Arcona species, already inside the Senator’s hotel suite.”

He chose his words carefully, trying neither to lie nor to give away the fact that he had been in bed with Padmé when he’d woken up. He could have sworn he sensed a bit of skepticism in Yoda’s face, but Master Windu asked,

“Did you take the assassin into custody?”

“I was not able to do so,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I severed his hand to stop the blaster fire, but he moved to attack Senator Amidala again, so I killed him.”

“Before the assassin died, he informed us that he was sent by someone called Jango Fett, on a planet called Kamino,” Padmé said matter-of-factly.

Mace Windu and Yoda looked at one another, and then Yoda said, “Of that planet, I have heard not.”

“He gave us very specific directions to find the place,” Obi-Wan said. “I think I ought to send Anakin Skywalker there, and perhaps return to Coruscant with the Senator. She needs more protection than a single Jedi Knight on a remote planet.”

He heard the tightness in his own voice then, and Padmé sighed a bit beside him. Now Obi-Wan was sure he felt suspicion from both Yoda and Windu.

“Anakin is not here,” Mace Windu said, and Obi-Wan felt a jolt of alarm. Windu’s holo image seemed to hesitate, and then Yoda cut in,

“Gone to Tatooine, he has.”

“His mother.” Obi-Wan nodded slowly. Anakin had been having dreams - or premonitions, it was difficult to say - about his mother for months now. And two nights ago, Obi-Wan had felt a pulse of fear and anxiety in the Force that he knew belonged to Anakin. He’d ignored it, thinking it was either something to do with the investigation on Coruscant or the boy’s lingering anger about their interaction on Naboo.

“Why he has gone, only Anakin can say,” Yoda mused to Obi-Wan. “Go to Kamino to look further into the claims of this assassin you will.”

“And what of Padmé?” Obi-Wan asked, shutting his eyes as soon as he realized he’d used her first name. Beside him, Padmé’s hands twitched on her lap. Obi-Wan quickly clarified to Masters Yoda and Windu, “Surely it can not be the best course of action to take the Senator to an unknown planet, when apparently the person behind these assassination attempts is there?”

Yoda’s holo image looked at Mace Windu’s for a moment, and Obi-Wan wondered whether they were communicating in a way he could not perceive. Master Windu tipped his head and said tightly,

“Senator Amidala, the Jedi Council has no authority to dictate your movements or actions. We have been entrusted with your protection, so if you’d like to come to Coruscant, you will find refuge at the Jedi Temple. We will gladly assign a dozen guards to secluded quarters here to protect you.”

“I’m very grateful for the protection I have received from the Jedi, Master Windu,” said Padmé carefully. “But I think I’d prefer to go to Kamino with Master Kenobi. I want to see for myself who it is that is trying to kill me. As it is right now, I am not able to properly perform my duties as Senator, so I may as well go to Kamino.”

“Killed you may be, Senator Amidala,” Yoda informed her in a grave voice. “But decide your own path, you must.”

“Know that the offer stands for a safe harbor at the Jedi Temple,” Master Windu told her. He turned his holo face to Obi-Wan and asked, “Is your astromech droid a good pilot?”

Obi-Wan smirked and nodded. “Arfour can get a bit reckless in a crowd, but she’s never crashed yet.”

“Dispatch her to you we will,” Yoda said, “With a lightweight shuttle. Go to Kamino, you will, unless the Senator decides that to Coruscant she would come.”

“I’ll keep the Council apprised of any discoveries we make,” Obi-Wan promised. Then, feeling a little clench in his chest, he asked delicately, “May I request to be updated should any new information about my Padawan arrive? I do feel worry over him.”

“Worry not,” Yoda commanded. “On his own path, young Skywalker is. New information will we give you. May the Force be with you.”

  
  


“Here it is,” Padmé breathed, pointing her finger to the holomap on the little shuttle’s command board. They had input the information they had from the Arcona assassin - Wild Space, south of the Rishi Maze, S-15 - and they had discovered what appeared to be a small planet covered in water. Padmé looked to Obi-Wan, who seemed more skeptical than ever as he pressed a button on his comlink and said,

“Arfour, go ahead and jump us into hyperspace. We’ve locked onto the location.”

There was a gentle beeping through the comlink, and a moment later, Padmé felt the shuttle lurch a bit. She glanced out the viewport and watched as the stars around them morphed into shearing lines of light. 

“How long will it take to get there?” Padmé asked, and Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows as he noted,

“I’ve never traveled anywhere so remote in the galaxy. By the map’s calculation, with this shuttle’s less-than-ideal hyperdrive, it will take four full days.”

Padmé glanced around the cramped interior of the shuttle. The furnishings were nice enough, but it was short on space. There were three reclining chairs in front of a holovid display, and there was a small round table beneath a cabinet of dehydrated food and water rations. There was a tiny ‘fresher in the corner, into which Padmé had glanced when they’d come aboard. There were three stacking bunks that folded out from the wall, and there was a small shelf of holobooks. That was it. Four days with anyone but Obi-Wan aboard a ship like this would have likely been enough to drive a person mad, but Padmé figured she would make it somehow.

“I wish you would have let me take you to Coruscant,” she heard him say gruffly, and she turned to face him. Obi-Wan folded his arms and touched his beard, looking thoughtful. “Masters Yoda and Windu sensed something was off. I could feel it; I could see it. Aside from the matter of your safety - which is a profound matter indeed - it would have been wise to split up, probably.”

Padmé flicked her eyes out the transparisteel viewport and noted, “Too late for all that perseveration now, Master Kenobi. I’m highly trained with a blaster, and you’ve got your lightsaber. We’ve already agreed on my alias and disguise. Besides, I’m safer beside you than anywhere else in the galaxy, and -” She paused then, for Obi-Wan had winced as though he were in physical pain. Padmé reached up to touch his hand, and she asked gently, “What’s wrong?”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan huffed out a sigh and paced a few steps as he said, “Whatever he’s doing on Tatooine, it isn’t good.”

“Don’t you have any way to contact him?” Padmé asked, unable to believe that Anakin would have gone somewhere without a communications device of some kind. But Obi-Wan shook his head and insisted,

“He doesn’t want me to contact him. I can feel that very plainly. Still… I do hope he’s all right.”

Padmé nodded. No matter how Anakin’s attentions upon their reunion had displeased her, she would always have a soft spot in her heart for the little boy she’d met all those years ago. And it was clear that Obi-Wan thought of Anakin almost like a son, and that he was pained to think of the boy being in trouble now.

“I don’t like the feeling of coming between you and Anakin, you know,” Padmé noted seriously. She moved to sit in one of the reclining chairs, arranging her feather-light black skirts about her. “You two are the only family the other has ever had, it seems. I dislike the sensation of being an interloper. And I don’t want to get you into trouble with the Jedi Council.”

“If I get myself into trouble with the Jedi Council, that will be my own doing. Not yours,” Obi-Wan said. He sat in one of the chairs beside Padmé and dragged his fingers through his hair. His blue eyes looked so very tired, Padmé realized. He hadn’t slept at all since he’d thwarted the assassin in the hotel suite, and that had now been about thirty-six hours ago. Padmé pulled herself from her chair and went to stand in front of Obi-Wan. He parted his knees and looked up at her, his hand still on his head as though he had a pounding headache.

“You need to rest,” Padmé instructed him, sounding a bit like her sister did when she chastised her children. Padmé put a hand on either side of Obi-Wan’s face and leaned down to kiss his forehead. He sighed as she did it, and Padmé whispered, “There’s no danger here in hyperspace, and I’m not out of your sight. Just like you insisted. So go ahead and rest.”

“If I close my eyes, then you  _ will _ be out of my sight,” Obi-Wan said. Padmé smirked at him. He always had a rebuttal, didn’t he? She leaned down again, intending to kiss his cheek, but Obi-Wan caught her jaw in his hand and pulled her lips to his. Padmé felt a shock go through her, as if she’d been struck by lightning. She kissed him for a long moment, feeling his tongue explore her mouth with an unexpected sense of urgency. Obi-Wan’s hands went to the embroidered bodice of her dress, and they pulled her forward a few inches. Padmé moved on instinct then, putting a knee on either side of Obi-Wan’s thighs on the armchair. 

She settled onto his lap and snaked her arms around his shoulders, kissing him again as Obi-Wan grunted quietly against her mouth. His fingers moved to her back and fumbled a bit with the ties there, and he pulled his lips from hers long enough to complain,

“Senator, may I ask why it is you constantly feel the need to wear such deliberately difficult-to-remove clothing? A part of me wonders if you do it to torture me, but I know you are not that cruel.”

Padmé laughed a little and whispered, “I’m surprised that a Jedi Knight can not use the Force to solve this problem.”

One of his red-gold eyebrows shot up, and he smirked. “What a marvelous idea. I can see why they say you’ve a mind for strategy.”

Padmé tried not to giggle as his hands flattened on her back and his forehead pressed against hers. Her amusement turned to wonder, though, when she felt a sort of vibration against her skin. Then she was aware of the ties down the bodice loosening, the knots giving way, as if the fabric was subject to Obi-Wan’s will. It probably  _ was _ subject to Obi-Wan’s will, she realized with a shock. For some reason, that made her want him more badly than ever, and as he wrenched the bodice from her, she ground her hips down hard and kissed his mouth again.

His hands cupped her breasts once he’d divested her of her bodice, and Padmé moaned a little at the feel of him squeezing her there. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, and he moved his kiss to her neck. It was all enough to make Padmé very, very dizzy, and she reached to hold onto his arms. One of his hands went between them and hiked up Padmé’s gauzy black skirts. She knew what he wanted, so she helped him with the awkward logistics. In a few moments, his hard cock had been pulled from his taupe trousers, and Padmé’s underwear had been shoved aside. She sank onto him, hissing and moaning at the feel of him filling her. It was a messy connection between them, with both of them almost fully clothed. But in that way, it felt more forbidden than ever, and Padmé nearly lost herself at once.

She held Obi-Wan’s arms for support as she bobbed up and down. The chair was cramped, which only shoved them more closely together, and his tunics rubbed at her bare breasts as she moved. His hands were on her hair, on her face, on her back. Everywhere. He kissed her lips and then her neck again as she rocked her hips. The feeling of him, warm and hard and thick, inside her body was so overwhelming that Padmé held her breath and saw lights before her eyes. Then she felt Obi-Wan’s hand on her cheek and heard him whisper,

“Padmé, believe it or not, this act does not negate the human need for air. Breathe.”

She laughed at that, which forced her to take in a breath. The dizziness faded and was overtaken by the feeling that she was about to fall from a cliff. The grinding between them was pushing her nearer and nearer the edge, along with the feel of Obi-Wan’s lips on her neck and his hand on her breast. She jerked her hips a few times as everything exploded in her head. There was heat and ringing in her ears, and she was clenching around him, and then she couldn’t move her hips anymore. Distantly, she registered the feel of him pulsing inside of her and heard his voice groan helplessly.

Padmé leaned onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder, unwilling to pull their bodies apart. They were sticky and he was going soft inside of her, but she found it very peaceful just to be cradled in his arms in the too-small chair.

“They saw right through me,” she heard him say again, and he sighed deeply. He was talking about Master Yoda and Master Windu, she knew, and he was probably very worried about the consequences he would face. Padmé brushed her hand up and down his arm and kissed his jaw, and Obi-Wan sucked in air before he murmured, “If it was only  _ this _ , Padmé, it wouldn’t be so bad. If it was only your body that I loved.”

Padmé felt her heart jump at that last word, and she shut her eyes against his chest. Obi-Wan’s trembling fingers stroked at her cheek, and he kissed her forehead as he said,

“But it isn’t just your body that I love, is it? It’s all of you - your mind, and your spirit. If I could keep myself from loving you, it wouldn’t be bad. But I can’t. I’m not strong enough to fight you off, and I don’t much want to do it, anyway.”

“I love you, too, Obi-Wan,” Padmé whispered, feeling a bit sleepy. She listened to Obi-Wan’s heart through his Jedi tunics, and then after a moment she heard him say,

“You go take the first turn in the ‘fresher, then. If I haven’t fallen asleep by the time you get out, I’ll go next. We’ll see whether cleanliness or fatigue wins this time.”

  
  


Anakin Skywalker didn’t know what he’d been expecting to find on Tatooine. He certainly hadn’t been expecting for Watto to tell him that he’d sold his mother, and he hadn’t expected to discover that the man who had bought his mother had married her. And he hadn’t expected to set off from a moisture farm in search of a horde of Tuskens with such a profound pit in his stomach.

Now he padded over some sand as he come across a hideous scene. There was the skeleton of a speeder, charred and smoking. There were three farmers’ bodies, mutilated and starting to stink. This was the work of Tuskens. Anakin shut his eyes, calling forth every meditative technique Master Obi-Wan had taught him. He needed to be calm if he was going to find his mother.

He breathed in and out again, feeling the hot desert air fill his lungs. He pushed his anxiety out with his breath and reached out in the Force. There was a stab of pain that he knew was his mother’s, and Anakin’s eyes sprang open. 

“Mom,” he whispered, his voice cracking in a childish way that might have embarrassed him, had there been anyone to hear. He turned back and looked at the dead farmers. There was no time to bury them now. He would have to come back for them. He hopped aboard the speeder bike he’d brought, and he rode until the desert was bathed in moonlight. Eventually he came to a little oasis with huts and fires speckled around it. Anakin knew that this was a Tusken camp, and he could feel his mother’s presence within it. He gulped and hopped off his speeder, pulling his lightsaber from his belt but holding off on igniting it. He stalked through the camp, searching and trying not to cry like a small child.

As he walked, he remembered the way Shmi Skywalker had always been gentle and caring, warm and kind. Even when little Anakin had disobeyed her, or when he’d broken something, Shmi’s eyes had always been comforting. Anakin had almost forgotten exactly what those eyes looked like, after ten years away, until his awful dreams started. Then he’d seen his mother’s eyes too clearly, clenching and going wide as someone tortured her.

When he found her tied to a rack inside a hut, Anakin realized that his worst nightmares had not adequately prepared him. His mother was bleeding and bruised, her body weak and thin after weeks of abuse. He cradled her head and whispered to her, and Shmi’s eyes cracked open through crusted blood. Then he saw it - the warm look a mother reserved for her child - and Anakin’s eyes flowed with tears.

“Ani?” Shmi’s voice was a shadow of what Anakin remembered it being, but her bleeding lips curled up into a little relieved smile. “My Ani… is it really you?”

“Shh… Mom, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m going to get you out of here, and everything is going to be fine.” Anakin nodded with an confidence that he didn’t really feel. Shmi’s eyes shut for a moment, and then opened as she murmured,

“Ani, you’ve grown so handsome.”

“Hold on, Mom. Don’t waste your strength on words, now. I’m going to -”

“I am  _ so proud of you _ ,” Shmi interrupted him, just like she’d always done. Her shaking, skeletal hand reached up to cup Anakin’s face, and suddenly he couldn’t talk or think straight. His mother was all he’d had as a boy on this desolate waste of a planet. Now he could feel her imprint in the Force weakening and fraying. She was dying, right here in his arms, and there was nothing he could do for her. Shmi’s eyes fell closed, and her voice was a raspy little whisper as she said, “I always knew… I would see you again. And now, I can sleep.”

“No, Mom. Don’t sleep. Stay awake with me, all right? I’m going to…” Anakin’s voice trailed off when he felt a little snap in the Force. The thread that had been binding Shmi to this life had broken. He shook her gently, but it was no use. His mother was gone.

“Mom? We have to go. I have to get you home,” Anakin whispered, a part of his brain knowing that she couldn’t hear him, and another part denying that reality. But Shmi was utterly limp in his arms, and when he set her gently on the ground, he swiped at his eyes and murmured, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, Mom.”

Suddenly Anakin wished that Obi-Wan was here with him. With his mother gone, his Jedi Master was the only family he had left in the entire galaxy. Even with the betrayal Anakin had perceived from Obi-Wan on Naboo, he would have given anything just now to hear his master’s calm voice. Instead, he was alone, rocking back and forth on the dusty floor of the hut with his lightsaber in his hand.

Over the next several hours, a seething rage began to develop inside of Anakin’s chest. He had heard many times, from Master Yoda and from Obi-Wan Kenobi, that a Jedi must be able to suppress anger before it flamed out of control. Anger, when left unchecked, could lead to the Dark Side. This Anakin knew. But he also knew that, tonight, he was powerless against the rage inside of him. It grew and grew as he stared at his mother’s face and studied the marks the raiders had left on her. He staggered toward the door of the hut, his lightsaber gripped in his fingers, and he whispered again,

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

When he burst through the door of the hut, the two Tusken guards on the other side exclaimed and took up their weapons. They weren’t fast enough. Anakin’s blue lightsaber ignited in a flash that sheared through the night sky. The guards fell quickly, slashed across their chests with elegant, practiced strokes. Anakin felt more angry than ever, and he rushed out into the camp.

_ Anakin, stop! No, Anakin! _ It was the voice of Qui-Gon Jinn, clear and strong in Anakin’s head as though the ghost of Obi-Wan’s master was watching in horror from beyond the grave. Anakin ignored the voice, and indeed it only served to egg him on. 

The next few minutes were a great blur of violence. The first Tuskens to fall were the ones who actively resisted the intruder with the lightsaber. The next ones picked up the weapons of the dead raiders and tried to defend themselves against Anakin. That was no use; he struck them down left and right with hacking swings of his blade. By the time the remaining villagers focused their efforts on fleeing the slaughter, Anakin was intoxicated by the act of killing. It felt good, in its own way, in the wake of his grief. It was, at the very least, cathartic. He could not think just now about the consequences of what he was doing, or the deeper meaning behind it. All he knew was that there was an inherent satisfaction in slicing his lightsaber over the back of a Tusken woman and watching her crumple to the ground with her child in her arms. There was something almost amusing about using the Force to raise a boulder and drop it onto a hut full of Tuskens, crushing them all. There was something deeply satisfying about it, and Anakin could not be disturbed about it right now.

  
  


“Obi-Wan, you have been pacing for an hour. In case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t much room to pace. You’re exhausting me. Please tell me what is going on.”  Padmé sighed exasperatedly and tossed the holobook she’d been reading down onto her table. She stood and walked the three steps to Obi-Wan, putting her hands on his elbows and demanding again, “What’s wrong?”

Obi-Wan finally stopped moving, and his face was grave as he mumbled, “Anakin has done something terrible.”

He knew this to be true because an hour or so earlier, he’d felt a sudden tearing of agony in the Force. Obi-Wan was well tuned to Anakin, even over long distances, after ten years of serving as his mentor. When the gash of pain had come through to Obi-Wan, he had felt a sudden protective urge to go find his Padawan. But Anakin was a man grown now, he knew. Whatever was happening to him was his load to bear. Then there was the throbbing rage and flashes of satisfaction that had come through the Force, and Obi-Wan knew it wasn’t just things happening  _ to _ Anakin. There was violence happening, somewhere on Tatooine, at the hands of his pupil.

“Maybe we should take the ship out of hyperdrive and reverse course,” Padmé mused. She seemed to be reading the discomfort on Obi-Wan’s face, and she said seriously, “I know he’s like a son to you. Like a brother.”

Obi-Wan wanted to tell her that, yes, Anakin was all of that, but she meant just as much right now. The thought of saying such a thing alarmed him, though, and his mouth fell open without saying a word. Finally, he shook his head and insisted,

“We are less than an hour from leaving hyperspace and approaching Kamino. We haven’t come this far for nothing.”

Padmé sighed and walked to stand by the little round table. She drummed her fingers on its surface and seemed to be considering something. While she did, Obi-Wan studied her a bit. She’d already put on the simple disguise they hoped would be versatile enough for a few scenarios. It was a heavy velvet tunic in emerald green, beneath which Padmé wore tan breeches and a pair of brown boots. Depending on who they encountered, Obi-Wan planned on introducing her as his student, his servant, or his wife. 

“You need to be prepared for someone to kill me on this planet,” Padmé said, suddenly jarring Obi-Wan from his observation. He scowled and shook his head.

“No, I don’t. I won’t allow such a thing to happen.”

“Obi-Wan,” she said gravely, “For all you know, we’re heading into a complete ambush. It was clear that the assassin sent to Bellassa was inexperienced, and he gave up information about Kamino far too easily. Someone wants us to find this planet. Someone involved in the assassination attempts.”

Obi-Wan pinched his lips and said defensively, “I do not sense a trap in this. Genuinely, I do not.”

“I hope you’re right,” Padmé nodded. “But you need to be all right with the idea of not blocking one blaster bolt, and it hitting me in the chest, and me -”

“Stop it, Padmé!” Obi-Wan’s tone was sharp, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. His heart had begun to race from the imagery of what she was describing. He sniffed lightly and stepped over to her, taking her face in his hands and saying seriously, “I am not going to let anything like that happen to you. I promise.”

Even as he said it, he knew he could not promise such a thing. Padmé knew it, too. She put her hands over his on her cheeks and flashed him a sad little smile.

“I am not afraid,” she insisted. “And I do trust you. Please just reassure me that if something happens to me, you won’t do anything rash. Nothing like what you’ve sensed from Anakin.”

He knew what she meant. There was a very good reason the Jedi Order prohibited emotional relationships. Anakin’s love for his mother had sent him all the way back to Tatooine and into some kind of mess. Now Obi-Wan had managed to fall in love with Padmé, and she was afraid that he would do something stupid if she died. It wasn’t an irrational thing for her to suggest, though of course Obi-Wan hoped he would have the discipline and training to handle such a nightmare scenario properly.

He couldn’t promise to keep her alive, and he couldn’t promise to behave rationally if she died, either. It wasn’t exactly an ideal way to walk into the unknown.

  
  


The fetus was a curled, wrinkled little thing, pink and squirming. In its cannister of protective fluid, it jerked at random times, as though it had the hiccups. Perhaps it did, Padmé thought. She struggled to contain her horror, to act as the ‘noblewoman from Coruscant’ that the Jedi Knight was escorting when he’d been detoured to Kamino.

Clones. An entire army of clones, and ostensibly for the Republic. This was terrifying, Padmé thought, and fascinating at the same time. Her eyes moved from the fetus in the tube up the shaft of matching transparisteel canisters. Hundreds and hundreds of growing humans in the same phase of development were visible, and Padmé tried not to ogle.

“If you will come this way,” she heard Lama Su say. The Prime Minister of Kamino was lean, lithe, and very tall, just like all the others of his species that Padmé and Obi-Wan had seen thus far. Lama Su’s strides were so long that Padmé had to trot to keep up as they followed him from the corridor. Padmé stole a glance to Obi-Wan, the first time since they’d arrived that she was able to read his face. His eyes were wide with confusion and amazement as he looked back at her. 

They’d come here to track down a bounty hunter, but instead they had found an army of clones. It was bizarre, to say the least, and profoundly unexpected. Padmé could not help but wonder if this was part of why the inexperienced assassin on Bellassa had so easily given them the directions to Kamino. Someone wanted them to discover this army of clones that had apparently been ordered by a dead Jedi Master years earlier.

Padmé and Obi-Wan were shown a classroom of diligently working, uniformly disciplined students. They all looked identical, and they all looked to be about ten years old. But Obi-Wan asked from beside Padmé,

“You mentioned growth acceleration?”

“Of course,” Lama Su replied smoothly. “Without the growth acceleration, an army would take a lifetime to mature. Instead, the batches we began ten years ago are now fully ready for combat. Now, would you care to examine the final product so that you can give your approval prior to delivery?”

Padmé felt her lip curl up with disgust. The verbiage being used to describe these clones was unsettling. These humans, identical though they were, had been mass-manufactured as in a factory and were nothing more than meat for the grinder of war. It was disturbing. The terrible tour proceeded through a commissary filled with young men about the same age as Anakin Skywalker, at least in appearance. They all picked up their forks in exactly the same way, seeming focused on the mundane task of eating.

“You’ll find they are very obedient,” Lama Su said proudly. “Naturally, their genetics have been altered to take away some of the tendencies toward individualism we found in the original.”

“The original?” Padmé repeated. She was not meant to play diplomat now, but she could stay silent no longer. “Who’s the original.”

“A bounty hunter called Jango Fett,” said Lama Su. “He lives here, but has the freedom to come and go as he wishes.”

Padmé felt as though a cold metal spike had been driven through her stomach. She struggled to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. Jango Fett - the name the assassin on Bellassa had given them. Were the assassination attempts all a ploy to get her and Obi-Wan here to Kamino, to get this army discovered? Or was it all just a bizarre series of coincidences?

“I should like to meet with this Jango Fett myself,” Obi-Wan said, surprising Padmé. She flicked her eyes between him and Lama Su. The female Kaminoan who had greeted them when they’d arrived, Taun We, said obediently,

“I will be very happy to arrange that for you.”

Taun We glided off. Padmé and Obi-Wan were taken to a balcony overlooking a rainy parade ground, where hundreds of thousands of the clone troopers moved in perfectly disciplined harmony. Padmé was more horrified than ever. She had worked hard in the Senate to oppose the creation of an Army of the Republic. This was precisely why. These humans that stood below her were not made to read or to create art or even to defend anything. They were made as war chattel, and with their existence known, war would be inevitable.

 

“Into custody, bring this Jango Fett,” said Master Yoda over the holo transmission. Obi-Wan turned his eyes to Padmé and then back to Arfour’s holo display as Yoda continued, “Question him, we will. Upon your journey back, sedate him you must… for the Senator’s safety.”

“Yes, Master. I will report back when I have him in custody. Arfour, cut the transmission.”

R4’s holo display vanished, and Obi-Wan turned to look pointedly at Padmé. She nodded back to him and said solemnly,

“The most important thing right now is determining the origin and implications of this clone army. The entire galaxy’s political stability is at stake, Obi-Wan, and you know it. This is about much more than my life, or attempts on my life.”

Obi-Wan had very reluctantly left Padmé in the guest quarters that they’d been given when he’d gone to meet with Jango Fett. It had seemed extremely unwise to put Padmé’s face before the bounty hunter. That turned out to be a fair suspicion; Obi-Wan now strongly believed that he had encountered Jango Fett on Coruscant the night that someone had shot the changeling assassin with a dart to silence her. How all these disparate pieces fit together - the bounty hunter chasing Padmé being the base clone for an army - Obi-Wan still could not say. He could feel, though, that neither he nor Padmé were safe on this planet.

“Get behind the ship, Padmé!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, and Padmé dashed around the edge of the light shuttle on which they’d come. The rain lashed the landing pad fiercely, and she was soaked to the bone as Arfour tootled up alongside her. Arfour gave a worried little moan of beeps, and Padmé murmured,

“I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

She didn’t know that for certain, and she became far less sure when she saw the way Jango Fett was firing a blaster pistol at Obi-Wan. His lightsaber deflected every bolt; he moved surely and confidently across the landing pad. His feet were nimble and his arm moved as though he had a half-second warning for each blaster bolt. It was an elegant pavane, light against light on the stormy night sky.

A little flicker of movement at the corner of Padmé’s field of vision distracted her from the sight. She squinted in the darkness in the direction of the other ship on the landing pad. Through the transparisteel in front of the ship, Padmé could see the figure of what seemed like a child. Then, rather horrifyingly, she saw the shaft of the ship’s laser cannon moving toward Obi-Wan.

“Look out, Obi-Wan!” Padmé screamed, as ferociously as she could. “Behind you! In the ship!”

Obi-Wan whirled over his shoulder, and then he was soaring hard to his right to get out of the cannon’s range. Meanwhile, Jango Fett continued to fire at him, and he had to slash almost blindly to block the bolts as he ran across the landing pad. Suddenly Padmé had an idea. She glanced down at the small blaster pistol she’d brought for herself from their shuttle. She ensured that it was set to Stun, so that the shot she was about to take would not be lethal. Then she held up the pistol, rising just enough to aim around the wing of the shuttle where she’d taken refuge. Arfour booped worriedly, but as Padmé trained her weapon, she said quietly,

“Don’t worry, Arfour. I’m just looking out for Master Kenobi.”

Then she fired. A blue ring of light shot through the darkness and hit Jango Fett square in the chest. His entire body glowed blue for a moment, and then he crumpled down into a motionless heap. He was incapacitated, not dead, but it would buy Obi-Wan enough time to get him aboard their shuttle and sedate him. 

Obi-Wan had noticed the child up in the other ship, though, and he was making his way toward that ship now. He was shouting something in the rain, probably for the child to come down from the cockpit, but Padmé couldn’t hear him over the wind. Her eyes were so focused on what Obi-Wan was doing that she missed the way Jango Fett had staggered to his feet and was moving slowly across the landing pad. Obi-Wan didn’t miss it, probably able to feel the danger behind him in the Force. He turned round, as incredulous as Padmé that the bounty hunter’s body had overwhelmed the Stun bolt Padmé had fired.

So this was why he’d been chosen as the basis for the clones, then.

Obi-Wan managed to kick Jango Fett’s blaster from his hands once they got close, and Jango seemed to be struggling against the lasting effects of Padmé’s blaster bolt. But the fight that ensued had Padmé genuinely worried. She had never seen Obi-Wan move like this, not even years earlier on Naboo. His hands and arms were flying, contacting Jango’s armor and being met with punishing strikes. The men grappled fiercely and seemed evenly matched. Every left hook was met with an expert duck; every snap-kick was met with a striking, twisting arm. Padmé stepped out from where she hid behind the wing of the shuttle, gripping her blaster pistol more tightly as she wondered whether she could get another clean shot.

Before she could think any more about that, her blaster pistol had been knocked roughly from her hands. Padmé gasped and watched as a rain-soaked child picked up her blaster from the ground and stumbled back a few steps. The little boy from the other ship’s cockpit - the little clone Obi-Wan had said was called Boba - pointed the blaster at Padmé. His fingers dexterously flicked at the switch on the side, changing it to a Kill setting. Padmé’s eyes went wide and she raised her hands as Arfour made a screaming sound beside her.

“Hold on, Arfour,” Padmé commanded, and she tried to ignore the way Obi-Wan and Jango were still fighting halfway across the landing pad. She turned her face to the boy, to the end of the blaster, and she said with feigned calm, “You don’t want to kill me, Boba.”

“How do you know?” the boy spat, his face twisting into an ugly expression of hatred that made his youth dissolve away. Boba turned his face while keeping the blaster pointed at Padmé, and he shrieked, “Hey, Jedi! I’m gonna shoot your girlfriend!”

The taunt was successful in drawing Obi-Wan’s face away from Jango Fett for a half second. That was all it took, and Jango seized the momentum. He and Obi-Wan were right on the edge of the platform, and in the half-second of Obi-Wan’s distraction, Jango struck. He kicked Obi-Wan so hard in the chest that the Jedi Knight went careening off the edge. Padmé screamed in horror at the sight of him plunging toward the churning sea below. She started to run to him, but Boba Fett’s little voice insisted,

“Stay where you are. I won’t hesitate.”

The confidence with which the boy spoke was frightening, and Padmé stilled her steps. She felt her eyes burning as she watched Jango Fett methodically peel Obi-Wan’s fingers from the edge of the platform. She whimpered when she saw Obi-Wan slide down the metal skirting of the platform toward the sea. Jango Fett came dashing back across the platform, and he shouted at his ‘son,’ 

“Get into the ship, Boba!”

“But the lady! Don’t you think we should -”

“No time! Go!  _ Go _ , Boba!” Jango snatched Boba’s arm in his hand and dragged the child up toward his ship. The bounty hunter spared one glance toward Padmé, and she wondered why he didn’t take Boba’s blaster and shoot her. He had been contracted to make sure she was dead. Why couldn’t he take a half second now and see that through? Her confusion and horror were compounded when Jango and Boba abruptly took off in their shuttle. It sailed up into the air and angled away from the landing pad, leaving Padmé bathed in light and wind as she crouched on the ground, sobbing.

  
  


“Stand up, Padmé. We need to go.”

Obi-Wan panted where he stood in the sheets of rain, struggling to catch his breath after the long and vigorous fight. He’d managed to make his way to one of the landing pad’s pylons once he’d been sent into the sea by Jango Fett. It was only through his strength in the Force that he’d managed to scramble back up and to dance his way along the structure’s underbelly until he found an unskirted edge. Obi-Wan was more thankful now than ever for the physical training he’d received as a Jedi. Still, he was tired. He had tried to hurl a tracking device at the hull of the  _ Slave I _ , the ship on which Jango and Boba Fett had escaped, but he hadn’t succeeded. 

Padmé turned over her shoulder at the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice. She seemed shocked to see him alive, and he could hardly blame her. He had very nearly died just now, though of course near-death experiences were part and parcel of life as a Jedi. Padmé staggered to her feet and threw herself against Obi-Wan, her arms cinching around his sopping tunics as she exclaimed,

“Oh, I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead.”

Obi-Wan scoffed lightly. “And here I was the one being warned not to overreact in the case of your death.” 

Padmé pulled back and flashed him a look that was almost angry. “Of course I would be upset if you died,” she said defensively. She shrugged, her face streaming with a mix of tears and pelting rain. “I love you.”

“And I you, but unfortunately we’ve no time for maudlin, rain-soaked assurances of mutual love just this moment,” Obi-Wan said sharply. He reached his hand out and stared at the spot on the platform where he’d dropped his lightsaber, and he summoned it using the Force. It shot into his hand, and Obi-Wan tucked it into his belt. “Arfour, prepare the shuttle to depart immediately. We’re going back to Coruscant.”

 

“Home sweet miniature shuttle,” Obi-Wan mused sardonically as he stepped away from the cockpit. Arfour had just jumped them into hyperspace, and it would be another long journey to get from the reaches of Wild Space back to Coruscant, at the center of the galaxy. “I must confess, I did not expect to be back aboard this ship so quickly, and I’m disappointed that we’re headed back to Coruscant empty-handed. We need more information about who hired Jango Fett to kill you.”

“You still think it was him?”  Padmé asked, her voice skeptical. Obi-Wan watched her shiver in her heavy velvet tunic, which was soaked through from the rain on Kamino. He frowned and said,

“It seems a bizarre coincidence that the same man should be enlisted to serve as the alpha clone in a commissioned army and also be recruited to kill you. I admit I can not see the binding threads in it all, but I do think it is the same man.”

“Honestly, Obi-Wan, I thought you were dead when I saw you go sliding down the edge of that platform. It was awful,” Padmé said. She surprised Obi-Wan with her lack of self-consciousness then, peeling her soaked velvet tunic from her torso to reveal the wet undershirt that clung translucently to her skin. Obi-Wan cleared his throat and looked away, feeling an almost overwhelming spike of arousal at the sight. 

“And what would you have done, had I indeed been dead?” He asked thoughtfully. “When I walked over to you, you were crouched on the ground crying without your blaster pistol in your hand.”

Padmé huffed, and Obi-Wan flicked his eyes to her. She perched on the edge of one of the armchairs and yanked her boots from her feet. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you with my lack of combat prowess, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan felt chilled, too, so he carefully pulled off his wet brown robe and placed it on the back of the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. He started removing his tunics, and they joined his robe on the back of the chair.

“There’s a sonic washer on the wall near the ‘fresher,” Padmé said. “I’ll put these things in there to get clean and dry. I’ll dry trousers and underthings next.”

Obi-Wan did not protest, and she gathered up her their tunics and his robe and balled them in her arms. He thought about making a snarky remark about ‘respect for the Jedi uniform,’ like they’d done on Naboo, but his throat had gone tight. She was very beautiful, he thought, with her hair falling in wet tendrils about her face.

“Anakin has left Tatooine,” he informed her, feeling as though she ought to know. She raised her face to him as she shut the sonic washer and pressed the button to activate it. She shoved a few of the wet curls from her eyes and asked,

“You know… because you felt it in the Force?”

She didn’t understand what it meant to be Force-sensitive. Not really. She could intellectualize it, like she could intellectualize everything else. But Padmé could not understand exactly what Obi-Wan had felt when he’d realized Anakin had done something awful on Tatooine, nor what he’d felt the night that Padmé had used her hands on herself on Naboo. Obi-Wan cleared his throat and said carefully,

“I think he’s going back to Coruscant. We will probably see him there.”

“Well, I hope we do. Then you can find out what’s been going on with him,” Padmé said matter-of-factly. She drummed her fingers on the lid of the sonic washer, still shivering in her wet undershirt, and she murmured, “What will they do to you?”

Obi-Wan didn’t have to ask her what she meant. She had been there when he’d used her first name in the holo conversation with Masters Windu and Yoda. She had seen the way they had tensed, the way Master Yoda’s eyes had narrowed with suspicion. Obi-Wan sighed.

“Some sort of exile, probably. Another border dispute mission, or suppressing piracy in the Outer Rim. Something very far away from you, for a long enough time for me to meditate and repent. Enough space and time for the two of us to move on from this silly little liaison. That’s what they’ll do.”

Padmé looked a bit hurt then, and Obi-Wan felt a throb of regret from her in the Force. She blinked quickly, obviously trying to mask the way her eyes had glazed with tears. 

“Is that what this is?” she whispered. “A silly little liaison. Tell me that’s all it is, and I’ll feel so much better. Tell me that it’s only because of physical proximity and too much time together.”

Obi-Wan lowered his head. “I should like very much to tell you that’s all it is. But it isn’t. Not for me, anyhow.”

He turned to look out the viewport, at the stars that whizzed past in the blur of hyperspace. He shut his eyes and said,

“I’m breaking every rule that’s ever been taught to me, and I can not stop. I’m not too proud to admit I’m ashamed.”

“Well. I’m very sorry,” Padmé said from behind him, her voice making Obi-Wan shiver even more than the air on his damp skin. “And I shall be very sad if I never see you again. But your life is… is so much bigger than me, and -”

Obi-Wan whirled around, stalking the few steps to Padmé and taking her shoulders in his hands. She seemed surprised by his abrupt sense of urgency. Obi-Wan stared straight into her eyes, a wild and desperate idea coming into his head. He waved his fingers in front of Padmé and said in a grave tone,

“You don’t love me. I’m just your bodyguard.”

Padmé glared at his hand and then scowled up at him. “What are you doing?”

Obi-Wan hadn’t really thought it would work, but he had no better option. Jedi mind tricks only worked on the weak-minded, and Padmé was anything but weak-minded. Still, Obi-Wan was desperate to make her forget what had built up between them. He summoned all his strength in the Force, coiling it in his abdomen and pushing it toward Padmé as he said more stoutly,

“You do not love me, Senator Amidala. You barely know me. I am just your -”

“Obi-Wan,  _ stop it _ !” Padmé snatched Obi-Wan’s hand from the air, curling her fingers tightly around his. Her face was angry and offended as she shivered in her wet undershirt and breeches. She huffed out a breath and said indignantly, “I deserve better than that, don’t you think?”

“My job is to protect you,” Obi-Wan said, feeling his eyes sear. He hadn’t cried in years. It had been at least since Qui-Gon Jinn’s death, and maybe even before that. But his eyes burned now with the alien sensation, and Obi-Wan lowered his face. 

It had been drilled into Obi-Wan Kenobi from a very early age that the Jedi did not fall in love, and so he had thought himself immune to it. He’d lusted after a few lithe female bodies in his day, and he’d admired a great many people’s intelligence and wit. But the lust and the admiration had never tangled in such a way as to create love inside him. Not until Padmé. He shook his head and tried to speak, finding himself wholly unable to do so.

 

“Just kiss me, will you?” Padmé asked in a shaking voice. “Before the choice to do so is taken from you?”

 

Obi-Wan raised his eyes to hers, and in her face he perceived a strange mix of emotion. It was as though she was grieving a person on their deathbed. She had accepted, he could see, that the Jedi Council would put an end to their affair. But in the little time they had before reaching Coruscant, she wanted one last taste of him. 

 

Something almost frighteningly feral came over Obi-Wan then. He seized Padmé’s face in his hands and crushed her mouth with his. He kissed her like he was a starving man being nourished at last. She tasted sweet, he thought distantly. She tasted warm, but she was still shivering in her wet undershirt. Obi-Wan’s fingers clawed anxiously at the back of her shirt, and he muttered against her lips,

 

“Have you  _ ever _ worn clothing that was easy to remove, Senator?”

 

Suddenly a few of the threads on the shirt gave way, and Obi-Wan realized he'd torn the fabric in his haste to undress her. He froze, and Padmé giggled up at him.

 

“It isn't exactly my most fashionable clothing. Go ahead, Master Kenobi.”

 

Obi-Wan smirked good-naturedly and ripped a bit more at the back of the shirt. The sound and feel of the material giving way was oddly erotic, and he huffed out a breath as he pressed his forehead down to Padmé’s.

 

“What a strangely satisfying thing to do,” he mused, “to be so destructive in the pursuit of you.”

 

Padmé laughed again, and a good bit of their earlier unease dissolved. Soon enough they were both wriggling from their wet trousers, and Padmé stood before Obi-Wan, naked and resplendent. She still shivered a bit, and on instinct, Obi-Wan brushed his hands over her and called forth a skill he didn't use very often. 

 

Tapas, the ability to use the Force to remain warm in a cold environment, was a survival skill Obi-Wan had been taught when he was a young Padawan. Now he used the skill to warm Padmé. He willed the Force to calm her shivering, to fill her veins with warmth. Padmé stared up at him, seemingly amazed as she realized what he was doing. Obi-Wan brought his hands to her front, fondling one breast carefully as he glanced around the interior of the ship.

 

“You have your choice of luxurious and comfortable locations for this next bit, Senator. Will it be the cramped chair, the too-small bunk, the hard floor, or the thrilling logistical uncertainty of the wall?”

 

Padmé grinned cheekily. “Oh, the wall, to be certain.”

 

“Challenge accepted,” Obi-Wan smirked. He kissed her again, pushing her shoulders gently toward the perimeter of the little space. She whimpered against his lips when her back hit the wall, and Obi-Wan felt a flare of heat in his core. Padmé’s fingers curled around his length between them, stroking him with a feather-light touch that made Obi-Wan’s knees buckle a bit. He could not help but watch, amazed at the sight of her hand on him.

 

“I ought not to have criticized…  _ ungh… _ your actions on Kamino,” he admitted, meeting Padmé’s wide brown eyes. “Even if Jango Fett managed to overcome the Stun bolt, that really was a very accurate…  _ kriff _ , Padmé… a very accurate shot you took.”

 

He was panting now, his hands pressed against the wall to hold him up as Padmé ghosted her fingers over his tip. She flashed him a mischievous grin and said in a playful voice,

 

“You're not so bad yourself, with that lightsaber of yours. It was terribly attractive, Master Kenobi, I must say.”

 

Obi-Wan quirked up an eyebrow and struggled to find enough breath to say, “Was it? I suppose if I ever want to seduce you again, I only need a good deal of rain and a sparring partner.”

 

Padmé’s face went a bit more serious then, and her fingers stilled on his manhood. Obi-Wan worried he'd said something wrong, until Padmé whispered,

 

“You've already seduced me, Obi-Wan, and it's had very little to do with your fighting skills.”

 

Before Obi-Wan knew what was happening, he was kissing her neck and lifting her from the ground. He felt her legs snare around his waist, felt her ankles link behind his back, and he drove himself into her body. She was ready for him, wet and tight and warm. She cried out at the feel of him filling her, and her hands gripped his arms. Obi-Wan thrust himself into her, over and over, pistoning against her with an urgency he hadn't known was there.

 

Padmé was crying, he realized suddenly. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, silent and subdued. Obi-Wan held her thighs in his hands and paused for a moment, studying her sad eyes. He did not need to ask her why she was crying, and he felt a terrible clench in his chest. 

 

“I'm going to miss you once they take you from me,” Padmé whispered, and Obi-Wan felt something inside of him shatter. He was in almost physical pain as he rolled his hips a few more times and finished inside of her. It felt distantly good, as a climax always did, but as Obi-Wan set Padmé on the ground and took a step away from her, it hurt, too. It felt very much like a farewell, like a kiss on the cheek of a dying friend.

 

Obi-Wan rubbed at his beard and mumbled, “You should… take a warm shower, perhaps. That rain on Kamino… the wet cold gets into your bones.”

 

“You warmed me plenty. I'm fine,” Padmé replied. She moved to her suitcase and yanked out a simple nightgown, which she wrenched over her head. “I think I'll sleep.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, wishing that the bunks were big enough to allow him to cradle her while she slept. He probably would never spend the night in bed with her again, he thought. He probably never should have done it in the first place.  

 

He washed himself in the tiny ‘fresher, letting the water jets blast off the evidence of the physical act that he'd just completed. But there was no shower in the galaxy to wash away how he felt about Padmé.

  
  


Padmé Amidala stared out of her apartments onto the controlled chaos of Coruscant. Everywhere she could see, lanes of speeders moved in a steady, stacked criss-cross. The buildings were so tall that Padmé wondered if one would ever truly hit the ground if one jumped from the top. Coruscant was very different from Naboo, she knew, in its cosmopolitan nature. Naboo was a place built on balance, on pacifism. From such a mindset, the people of Naboo had reaped great comfort and stability. As their Senator, Padmé had sought to promote their views. She had argued vehemently for years against the creation of an Army of the Republic. War would inevitably result, Padmé had said, and she truly believed that.

Now there was an army of clones that had been years in the making. And Padmé Amidala knew that once news of those clones fell upon the wrong ears, there would be war. It was inevitable. Everything she had protested was coming to fruition. 

Perhaps that was why she’d put on a mourning gown after she’d arrived on Coruscant and washed up. The heavy skirts, crafted of countless yards of Aeien silk, were inky black. The bodice was striped silver and black, again of silk. From the back of the gown, a cape flowed and pooled on the ground. Its weight was restrictive every time Padmé tried to move forward. And so her gown felt very appropriate just now - heavy attire perfect for mourning peace.

On the shuttle journey from Kamino, Padmé and Obi-Wan had theorized about all the loose threads of logic. How was it that the alpha clone for the army on Kamino had also been involved in the plots to assassinate Padmé? It had taken a good deal of speculation before Padmé and Obi-Wan had settled on a theory. Perhaps there was someone who knew about the clone army who also wanted Padmé dead. This person, they reasoned, was likely someone who resented Padmé’s pacifist efforts in the Senate… someone who did not fear war, but instead embraced it and longed for it. It wasn’t much to go on, they knew, but it was the only theory they had to connect all the disparate dots.

As soon as they’d arrived back on Coruscant, Obi-Wan Kenobi had gone to find Anakin Skywalker. Padmé had hardly been surprised at Obi-Wan’s eagerness to find out what had happened to his student. As far as Padmé knew, the two of them were even now in the apartment next door, talking things over. Padmé stood alone and gazed out of her window, only turning around when she heard the voice of her handmaiden, Dormé.

“Senator Amidala, Master Yoda of the Jedi Council had come to see you.”

“Thank you, Dormé.” Padmé swallowed the knot in her throat as she walked toward her sitting area. She needed to force herself, now more than ever, to be the diplomat she’d been trained to be.

“Master Yoda,” she said smoothly, giving a reverent bow of her head as the small, ancient master waddled into the room. She gestured to the twin white sofas in the sitting area, and Yoda slid himself up onto one. Padmé sat across from him, keeping her face pleasant and neutral as Yoda said,

“Senator Amidala. Relieved, I am, to see you alive and well. Hmm.”

“I have the Jedi to thank for the fact that I’m alive, Master Yoda. Master Kenobi has been a capable and valiant bodyguard.”

Yoda’s green face crinkled with a knowing expression. He turned his eyes to look out Padmé’s window, and then he said, “Something true I have felt, in the depths of the Force... in love with you, Master Kenobi is.”

Padmé felt her mouth drop open, felt her stomach flip, and she shut her eyes for a second. Yoda had not lingered on small talk very long. He’d cut straight to the interrogation. Padmé opened her eyes and sighed.

“Volumes, your silence speaks,” Yoda nodded, and Padmé knitted her fingers together on her lap. She put her lips into a line and murmured,

“Master Yoda, I only beg that you do not punish him too harshly for it.”

“Punish him?” Yoda repeated, sounding almost amused. Padmé frowned, feeling a spike of confusion, but Yoda grunted out a little chuckle and shook his head. “For punishment, time we have not. Master Kenobi’s skills will we need, when to the galaxy a great war comes. Your diplomatic prowess will we need, when that war comes. Great faith I have, in you and him both. Stronger together, the two of you are. Hmm.”

Yoda slid from the white sofa, landing with a little  _ plop _ on the floor. Padmé flew to her feet, feeling dizzy with surprise at what Yoda had just said. She struggled to gather herself and remain composed as she looked down to the wizened Jedi Master.

“Remain vigilant, you will, to ensure Master Kenobi’s focus on his duty, hmm?” Yoda quirked up one eyebrow, and Padmé nodded frantically.

“Of course, Master Yoda,” she said, her voice cracking a bit. She walked Yoda to the doorway and thanked him as he left, and then she shut the door. She collapsed back against the wall and felt her eyes sear with sudden tears. Was there a chance, then, that Obi-Wan would not be sent away from her?  _ For punishment, time we have not,  _ Yoda had said.  _ Stronger together, the two of you are. _

Padmé covered her mouth with her hands and tried to stay quiet as she cried. She did not want Dormé to hear and think something terrible had happened. And just this minute, Padmé found she needed to be alone with her racing thoughts.

  
  


“Anakin, I’m more relieved than I can say to see you alive and well,” Obi-Wan said to Anakin when he stepped into the sitting room. Anakin sighed deeply and sank onto one of the black chairs. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and he said,

“I’m relieved, too, Master. I had heard that you saved Padmé -  _ Senator Amidala  _ \- from yet another assassin.”

Obi-Wan nodded, grazing his knuckles over his beard as he sat opposite Anakin. “She is safe and sound, thankfully.”

Anakin frowned. There was something odd in the way Obi-Wan’s eyes as they spoke about Padmé. Anakin was more suspicious than he’d ever been that there was an attraction between his master and the young woman Anakin had spent years fantasizing over.

“I was worried over you,” Obi-Wan continued, his voice and eyes softening a bit. “I could feel in the Force that something terrible was happening on Tatooine. Tell me, my young Padawan, why it is you felt the need to go home.”

“Those dreams I had about my mother?” Anakin said, his voice spitting the words a bit as he fought off the burn in his eyes. “They weren’t just dreams, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s face went very grave then, and he sat back against his chair. Anakin wanted to hear Obi-Wan apologize for having downplayed Anakin’s visions. Perhaps if Obi-Wan had given Anakin leave to go back to Tatooine at the first twinge of danger, his mother would still be alive. Flush with anger, Anakin said in a bitter tone,

“She looked so much older, Master, than I remember her being. Part of it was the injuries from the weeks of torture inflicted on her by Tusken raiders. Part of it was the years that have passed. But she died in my arms, and she said her life was complete because she’d seen me again.”

There was a split second of silence between master and student that was very loud indeed. Anakin watched Obi-Wan’s throat bob as the older man prepared to speak. Finally, Obi-Wan said delicately,

“I’m sorry to hear that she’s died. Even more sorry to hear of the violence she suffered. Tell me, Anakin… after your mother died, what did you do then?”

He knew. Anakin could tell that Obi-Wan knew. He just wanted to hear Anakin say it, to hear Anakin admit to slaughtering the village of Tuskens. Instead, Anakin pulled himself to his feet and walked toward a window. As he stared out of the glass, Anakin sniffed,

“I did what I needed to do, Master. Now, will you tell me something? Will you tell me how you and Padmé passed the time on Naboo, on Bellassa, on the shuttle to and from Kamino? Wild Space… that must have been eight or nine days round-trip.”

“Eight days,” Obi-Wan said calmly from behind Anakin. “Four there and four back.”

Anakin whirled around, feeling very angry with his master. Obi-Wan had risen from his chair, and he’d folded his arms into his brown robe. His face was stony as he asked Anakin,

“Did you kill people on Tatooine, Anakin? I could feel that in the Force. I could feel that you’d killed.”

“Well, I could feel that you and Padmé were -” Anakin began, but Obi-Wan shook his head and said firmly,

“Right now we are discussing  _ you _ , my young Padawan, and whether or not you have committed a grave violation of honor.”

Anakin scoffed and shook his head. “Shall I have one of the Padmé’s mirrors from her boudoir brought in, Master? So that you might have a look in the glass and see your own accusations?”

That was a degree of petulence and disrespect that Anakin had never reached before with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his master’s blue eyes flashed brightly. When Anakin had been a young teenager, he’d been sulky and peevish, and had occasionally snapped at his master. But Obi-Wan had always handled such minor irritability with an unending supply of calm and understanding. No quarrel between the two of them had ever lasted very long, and they had generally enjoyed an amenable relationship. Now Obi-Wan’s eyes glittered with suspicion, and Anakin felt a burning anger in his chest. Obi-Wan Kenobi was a hypocrite, he thought, to be scolding Anakin for what he’d done on Tatooine.

“Are you in love with her, Master?” he asked bluntly. As far as Anakin knew, Obi-Wan had never lied to him about anything serious. And if his master were indeed in love with Padmé, that would be a serious violation of the Jedi Code. Such an offense would erase Obi-Wan’s ability to berate Anakin for the slaughter on Tatooine, if only Anakin could get Obi-Wan to admit to it. Anakin took a step toward Obi-Wan, whose chin tipped up almost defiantly as Anakin asked again, “Are you in love with Padmé?”

Obi-Wan chewed his bottom lip for a moment, and his hands tightened on his elbows. His face morphed into an expression halfway between hurt and anger, and he finally hissed, “Yes, Anakin. I am in love with Padmé. And  _ you _ … you no longer recognize your place as my pupil. And you have lost your respect for life. I can feel that very strongly. I wish I did not sense so much darkness inside of you. The anger you are projecting toward me is not what I have taught you. I have -”

“You taught me how to properly wield a lightsaber, how to use Farseeing, how to track people down in the Force. You taught me all of that, Master, and those skills came in very useful on Tatooine. So, thank you.” Anakin crossed his own arms over his tunic, feeling a throb of irritation and resentment go through his veins. He watched as Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, as his lips turned down. Anakin had never hated his master before, not even for an instant. He didn’t hate him now, either, but he felt much greater acrimony toward Obi-Wan that he’d ever felt. 

“You wound me very deeply, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said quietly. He shook his head and said in a more confident tone, “I am due to meet with the Jedi High Council to debrief the discovery of the clone army and to discuss ongoing efforts to protect Padmé from assassination. You can be assured, my young Padawan, that I will not be recommending that you be placed on her security detail for the time being. Get some rest, Anakin, and we will talk later.”

Obi-Wan turned to go, striding away from Anakin with long steps. Anakin scowled as he watched his master go. It felt like much more than Obi-Wan leaving a room. Something between them had fractured and torn, and Anakin felt more angry than he had since that awful night on Tatooine.

  
  


“Thank you, Estee Three.” Padmé flashed a little smile at the ST-series styling droid that was moving away from her head. The cleansing unit on the droid had just washed off her makeup, and the droid’s nimble arms had braided Padmé’s hair into a single tight plait for the night. 

“Have a wonderful evening, Senator,” said the smooth voice of Estee Three. The droid hovered into its charging position beneath Padmé’s boudoir and there was a low series of beeps indicating the droid had gone into sleep mode.

Padmé sighed and looked into her mirror. Her meeting with Chancellor Palpatine a few hours earlier had been unsettling, and ever since, Padmé had been on edge. She had discussed the complicated political implications of the Kamino clones with the Chancellor. He had, for some reason, not been as surprised to hear about the clones as Padmé might have expected. Perhaps he had been successfully masking his shock, or perhaps he was particularly skilled in using a measured tone after years in politics. But for some reason, the way Chancellor Palpatine received the news of the clone army made Padmé feel strange. Between that meeting and the one with Master Yoda, it had been a very strange day indeed for Padmé Amidala.

She turned over her shoulder at the sound of her door sliding open. For a half second, she thought perhaps it was Dormé coming to check on her before she went to bed. But her heart clenched as Obi-Wan Kenobi came walking into her rooms. He glanced around for a moment, as if to ensure they were alone, and then he kept walking toward Padmé. She flew from the stool at her boudoir and dashed toward him, knowing she probably seemed very childish as she flung herself against him. She didn’t care what it would have looked like; she needed his arms around her just now. She felt Obi-Wan’s hands on her back, felt his lips press against her hair, and he murmured,

“I met with the Jedi High Council. I was… I was not chastised at all by them. I thought you might want to know that.”

Padmé pulled back and gave him a little half smile. “Master Yoda came to see me,” she said, and Obi-Wan’s red-gold eyebrows went up in surprise. Padmé continued, “He told me there was no time for punishment, not in light of discovery of the clone army. He also said he thought you and I were stronger together than we are separately.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth fell open, and he took a half step back as a mix of relief and confusion seemed to settle over him. “And what do you think of that?” he asked carefully.

“I think I feel safe with you, even though someone still wants me dead. I think you help me think rationally in the face of danger. I’m stronger because of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m not sure I could say the same in reverse.”

She remembered the way he had been distracted for an instant on Kamino when little Boba Fett had shrieked at him.  _ Hey, Jedi! I’m gonna shoot your girlfriend! _ That had been enough to distract Obi-Wan just long enough for Jango Fett to kick him from the platform, and it had led to the bounty hunter’s escape. If anything, Padmé thought, Obi-Wan was  _ weaker _ because of her. She did not much like that thought. But Obi-Wan said,

“Master Yoda knows the Force better than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s known me since I was a tiny Youngling. If Master Yoda is disinclined to exile me from the Jedi Order, I will not argue the matter with him.”

Padmé slid her fingers through Obi-Wan’s and led him toward her bed. Her silk nightgown moved about her like fresh cream as she walked. She could feel Obi-Wan’s hand tighten on hers, and when they reached her bed, Padmé encouraged him to sit on the edge. He did, looking a bit hungry for a moment as Padmé situated herself between his knees. She dragged her fingers through his hair, noticing the way the light from the setting sun came through the windows and made his hair look more red than ever. She leaned to kiss his forehead, and Obi-Wan’s hands moved to hold her waist. He grunted quietly, and it took quite a bit of self-control for Padmé to ask,

“And what about Ani?”

Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened on her waist, and he let out deep sigh against Padmé’s chest. He raised his eyes to look at her, and she was a bit alarmed at how sad his eyes were.

“What about Anakin?” she asked again, suddenly very worried. Obi-Wan hesitated, but at last he licked his lip and said,

“Anakin’s mother was taken prisoner by raiders on Tatooine. He felt that she was in danger, and so he went to find her. She died in Anakin’s arms, and he… he took revenge.”

Padmé’s jaw dropped. He  _ took revenge _ ? What did that mean? Was Anakin Skywalker a murderer? There was a terrible crack in Obi-Wan’s voice as he added,

“He hates me now, because he can tell that I love you. He wanted you for himself, or at least wanted a fair shake at seducing you. Now he hates me, he’s done something terrible, and…” His eyes closed and his lips tightened. “I’m losing him, Padmé. I fear a growing darkness inside of him. I’ve failed him.”

Padmé felt an awful cinch of guilt in her stomach. She was ruining everything for Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Jedi Council might have overlooked his offense for now, because there was the risk of war in the future, but surely his standing in their eyes had been irreparably damaged. His relationship with his Padawan was fraying, and it was mostly because of how Obi-Wan loved Padmé. She sighed and took a half step back from him, cinching her scarlet robe around her waist.

“Will you be standing guard out in the corridor tonight? I’d feel safer if it was you.”

“Is that your way of evicting me from your bed, Senator Amidala?” Obi-Wan asked, a sly smirk coming over his lips. “Bidding me to go stand guard in the corridor? You know I could guard you much better if I were right beside you.”

Padmé laughed under her breath. “I think I’ve done enough damage in your life for one day.”

Obi-Wan pulled his thumb over his beard, looking very thoughtful as he said, “Forgive me for being so direct about this, but… I think just now I want nothing more than kiss you and hold you.”

Padmé’s chest fluttered at the way he spoke. She felt her cheeks go hot with sudden want, and her fingers snared back into his hair. “You want me, Master Kenobi?”

His breath shook a little through his lips as one hand dragged up her thigh. “Yes. I want you.”

Padmé leaned down and put her lips beside his ear. In light of all the ongoing stress around them, she thought perhaps her bed might be an escape for them both tonight. She kissed the skin just below Obi-Wan’s ear and whispered,

“Tell me… what  _ exactly _ do you want, Master Kenobi?”

His fingers dug into the back of her thigh, eliciting a little gasp from Padmé, and his back went ramrod straight. He was tense, suddenly, as Padmé rubbed at his scalp, and she worried that she’d said something wrong. But then he whispered,

“I’ve always been much better at showing than at telling.”

Padmé pulled back and smiled down at him. She nodded. “Show me, then.”

 

Obi-Wan dragged himself out of Padmé’s bed, feeling an odd twinge of unease as he did. Something in the Force, some kind of disturbance, was practically screaming at him to reach out and find it. He snatched his lightsaber from the table beside Padmé’s bed and stalked through her rooms, not much caring just now that he was naked. He looked around for a few minutes, ensuring that the danger he felt was not in Padmé’s apartment. He glanced back to her bed, to where she was sleeping peacefully, and his heart raced again. 

They had spent over an hour earlier caressing and kissing, and then Obi-Wan had taken Padmé for what felt like an eternity. It had been soothing and tiring at the same time, and they’d both fallen asleep with their limbs tangled. But something had awakened Obi-Wan, and now he wanted to figure out the source of his discomfort. He hunted down his clothing, which had been scattered all over Padmé’s floor earlier. Obi-Wan smirked a little at the memory of her wrenching his tunics from his body and tossing them haphazardly onto the ground.

_ As long as I’m breaking every rule I’ve been taught, I might as well let you go ahead and disrespect my uniform, _ he’d teased her, and Padmé had laughed a little. Obi-Wan felt his cheeks go hot as he put his clothes back on now. His mind was vibrating with the memory of how breathless she’d been when he’d touched her, the way her face had twisted and the sound of her moans as she’d finished around his fingers. She’d finished around his cock, too, just before he’d spilled himself into her. Obi-Wan stared down at Padmé’s sleeping form and tried to shove aside the reality of how his body responded to her. The sight of her, curled naked beneath her blankets with her face peaceful, was enough to make Obi-Wan go a bit hard. But he wasn’t about to wake her up for sex, and, anyway, he needed to get to the bottom of the the odd shiver in the Force.

Obi-Wan situated himself on the ground beside Padmé’s bed. He folded his legs beneath him and put his hands on his knees. He shut his eyes and began to breathe more carefully. He drew in breath for six counts, held it for six counts, and released it for six counts. Over and over he did this, always counting steadily in his mind.  _ One, two, three, four, five, six. _ Breathe in, hold, release. The rhythm was steady and soothing, and after awhile, Obi-Wan could no longer feel his own body.

He imagined that he was climbing the sheer face of a cliff. He was pulling himself up, one hold at a time, always getting nearer to the top. Up and up he climbed, steady and sure. Then he released the holds and fell backward into a bottomless black chasm. In his mind, Obi-Wan fell for a very long time. Falling, falling, falling. Down, down, down.  _ One, two, three, four, five, six. _

He had found his trance, and Obi-Wan sought out the strange feeling in the Force using the skill of Farseeing. Infinite time and space were at his disposal as he tried to find the twinge that had called to him. Finally, Obi-Wan felt himself being sucked into a scene, and he looked around him as he realized no one could sense him there.

The space around him was hot and bright, and Obi-Wan recognized it as a square in the center of a rather stark complex of buildings. A group of beings came from one of the buildings. There were several of the insectoid Geonosian species, along with a mixed group of others. Obi-Wan immediately knew two in the group. There was Nute Gunray, the Neimoidian viceroy who had led the invasion of Naboo ten years previously. There was also Count Dooku, the former Jedi whom Padmé had initially suspected was behind the attempt to assassinate her. 

Obi-Wan felt a quiver of shock, even through his meditation. This was not a vision of the future, he knew. This was happening right now. This was real. He listened to the conversation going on in the group as they walked by.

“Now we must persuade the Commerce Guild and the Corporate Alliance to sign the treaty,” said Count Dooku. Obi-Wan felt anger strike him through at the sound of Dooku’s voice. What he would give to be able to call out to the traitor right now.

“And what of the Senator from Naboo? Amidala. I will not be signing any treaties until I have her head on my desk,” said Viceroy Gunray. Obi-Wan’s mouth fell open where he stood. Suddenly it all made sense. Nute Gunray had been humiliated by Padmé years earlier, and it was likely that the Neimoidian had retained a personal grudge. Still, it was disturbing to hear the vehement way Gunray demanded Padmé’s death.

“I am a man of my word, Viceroy,” said a man beside Count Dooku. Then one of the insect-like Geonosians paused in flight and said,

“Don’t worry, Viceroy Gunray. The new battle droids we’ve made for you will give you the finest army in the galaxy.”

“Hmm…” Gunray sounded skeptical, but he turned his unreadable face to Count Dooku and said, “Reaffirm for me, Count Dooku, that your proposals will be uninhibited free trade.”

“Profits beyond your wildest imagination, Viceroy Gunray.” Count Dooku’s voice was smooth, and his noble face was reassuring. “Once our friends in the Trade Federation join us, and their battle droids combine with yours, we will be unstoppable. The Republic will be utterly overwhelmed.”

Nute Gunray quirked his head. “I derive some confidence in your cause, Count Dooku, from the idea that the financial powers in the galaxy will come together and that the battle droid factories are operating at full capacity. Still, I want Senator Amidala dead.”

“Rest assured, Viceroy, that you will have the Senator’s head soon enough,” said Count Dooku. “In the meantime, I hope you will go ahead and sign on with us.”

Obi-Wan was suddenly yanked from the sunny square, as if a string were tied to his back and had been pulled by an unseen puppeteer. He was soaring, whirling through a black depth. He was coming out of his trance. He was awake again.

He blinked his eyes a few times and realized he was back in Padmé’s bedroom. Outside her transparisteel windows, the sun was rising. Obi-Wan flew to his feet and dashed over to Padmé’s bed. He shook her shoulder rather roughly, and she groaned as she rubbed her eyes and rolled to face him.

“Wake up, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said firmly, and she pushed herself up to her elbows at his insistent tone.

“What’s the matter?” she asked groggily. Obi-Wan struggled to the calm the panic spreading through him.

“Come get dressed,” he instructed her. “You and I need to meet immediately with the Jedi High Council.”

He explained to her what he’d seen as she rushed to yank on undergarments and a simple dress. She said nothing as Obi-Wan talked her through the scene on Geonosis. Her face was steely and determined, and as she slipped shoes onto her feet, Obi-Wan said,

“This war will be beyond anything we could have ever imagined.”

Padmé met his eyes, and her face was both sad and angry. “Yes, it will be. So let’s go make a plan, shall we?”

  
  


“Dooku. We should have known… we should have suspected him.” Mace Windu shook his head and let out an irritated huff. Obi-Wan Kenobi gnawed on his bottom lip, glancing around the Temple refectory in which he and Master Windu were taking lunch. 

“It is alarming, is it not, that Dooku has managed to so thoroughly conceal his darkness from the entirety of the Jedi Council?” Obi-Wan asked quietly. “I believe I was only drawn to that Farseeing vision because the conversation also involved Senator Amidala. I have been attuned in the Force to anything surrounding the assassination attempts. Hearing and seeing Dooku’s role in the creation of a droid army was purely coincidental.”

Mace Windu took a bite of a preserved gor apple from his plate. He chewed and said in a thoughtful tone, “Senator, correct me if I’m wrong, but I had thought the entire Trade Federation had publicly repudiated the Separatists.”

Beside Obi-Wan,  Padmé nodded. She set down her glass of Lyme’s rose juice and folded her hands on the shining white table. Obi-Wan stole a glance up and down her form. She’d elected today to wear a stoic, simple tunic of dark blue velvet over taupe leggings with dark blue boots. Her hair was yanked back neatly into three braids, which had been wound into a bun at the nape of her neck. She looked serious and political, but still managed to be pretty. 

“The Trade Federation maintains a presence in the Senate,” Padmé informed Master Windu. “If the vision Master Kenobi witnessed is true, and the various parts of the Trade Federation join Count Dooku, then their public allegiance to the Republic is a total sham. They are not to be trusted. It makes me wonder who else can not be trusted. I confess that my faith in the Senate itself has been greatly shaken by these revelations.”

“The Republic will have no choice now but to use the clone army from Kamino,” Obi-Wan noted, slowly stirring a spoon in his bantha stew. “Overwhelmed. That was the word Dooku used. ‘ _ The Republic will be utterly overwhelmed. _ ’”

“It’s true,” Padmé agreed. “If the Separatists have amassed widespread support and have a droid army that is essentially disposable, the only hope of resisting them is to try to match their military capabilities. It is a distressing notion, but war is almost certainly coming.”

“The Jedi will be used as generals,” Mace Windu said, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. “Chancellor Palpatine discussed that matter with the Jedi Council just a few hours ago.”

Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows go up. “Jedi Generals?” he repeated. “I thought the Jedi stayed out of military conflicts whenever possible.”

“It isn’t possible to stay out of this one, General Kenobi,” Master Windu said gravely. Obi-Wan felt an odd twinge in his chest at the use of that title…  _ General Kenobi. _ He shook his head, flicking his eyes to Padmé.

“My orders at present are to protect Senator Amidala from attempts on her life. It was very clear from what I saw on Geonosis that some still want her dead.”

“Master Kenobi,” Padmé said carefully, and her brown eyes were wide when he met them. “The important thing right now is the preservation of the Republic. If you are needed to command clone troops and to triumph against the Separatists, then that is where you must go.”

Obi-Wan wanted to tell Padmé not to be silly, that of course he would remain with her to keep her safe, but he knew she was right. He was a Jedi Knight, and if the Jedi were being called into battle, then he would go to battle. 

“It is likely,” Mace Windu said, lowering his voice and leaning forward onto the table, “that Grand Master Yoda will call the clone army into action to strike the droid foundries on Geonosis. But it will need to be at a seemingly random time. The element of surprise is critical. General Kenobi, I have no doubt that you’ll be made aware when that time comes.”

Obi-Wan nodded and gulped. “And my Padawan?” he asked carefully. “Will he be made a Knight? Will there be a General Skywalker?”

“We shall see about that,” Mace Windu said. He sat back and picked up another slice of preserved gor apple. “In the meantime, stay on your toes. Things will be happening with a great sense of urgency now.”

  
  


Master Windu had not been wrong about how quickly everything would begin to happen. It was only four days later when Obi-Wan was summoned before the Jedi High Council and informed he and Anakin Skywalker were to go at once to Geonosis. The clone army had been called into action from Kamino, they were told, and along with several hundred other Jedi, they were to lean an attack on the droid foundries and the droid army itself.

It had been very difficult for Obi-Wan to tell Padmé goodbye as he’d left. He’d stolen a quick embrace and a fleeting kiss, and he’d burned into memory the feel of her hand on his cheek. She’d reassured him that she would be fine, that the Council had appointed eight guards for her and that she would be staying ensconced in her apartments until Obi-Wan returned. Still, a stubborn coil of trepidation in Obi-Wan’s belly had stayed all the way to Geonosis. He and Anakin flew interceptors to Geonosis. The second they exited their hyperdrive rings, Obi-Wan felt his heart begin to race.

“Whoa! Wasn’t expecting to see this,” he heard Anakin say over their linked comm headsets.

“Welcome to Geonosis, then,” Obi-Wan answered. They’d come out of hyperspace and straight into a battle scene. Perhaps the element of surprise Master Yoda had been relying on had not been present after all, Obi-Wan realized. Before them, the red-orange orb of Geonosis loomed. But in the space above the planet, there were heavy-duty starfighters exchanging fire. Obi-Wan maneuvered his own interceptor down and to the right as a droid starfighter headed straight for him.

“Be careful, Master,” Anakin said over the comm headsets. “Those droid fighters won’t hesitate to sacrifice themselves. Artoo, dodge ‘em!”

That was the entire problem here, Obi-Wan could see. They were surrounded by sleek new droid starfighters with no living pilots within them. The droid fighters were locking onto the other Jedi Interceptors in the area and firing vibrant red bolts in rapid succession.

“Master, there’s a banking clan frigate down there. Do you see?” Anakin’s voice was almost excited, and Obi-Wan glanced out and down through his viewport.

“I see it,” he answered gravely, feeling his heart sink at the sight of the long, skeletal frigate. The Trade Federation logo that had been painted on its side said it all - Dooku had gained the allies he wanted. The frigate would be armed with many heavy cannons, Obi-Wan knew, so he said firmly, “Stay well above it, Anakin. Focus on the droid starfighters.”

“There could be a hundred thousand droid troops inside that thing!” Anakin argued. “Don’t you think we should try and take it out?”

“No! Our mission is to land on Geonosis and aid with the attack on the foundries! Stay away from that frigate, Anakin!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, shaking his head despite Anakin’s inability to see him. Then, noticing a pack of oncoming droid fighters, he swerved his interceptor to the left and barked, “Anakin, break right! Break right!”

He glanced out his viewport and saw that Anakin had swerved his interceptor away. The droid fighters didn’t react in time to the split of the Jedi interceptors, and they sailed in between Anakin and Obi-Wan.

“Lock onto them, Artoo!” Anakin exclaimed, just as Obi-Wan said,

“Arfour, lock rear projectiles, and…” Obi-Wan pressed his thumbs against the triggers on his steering column. He glanced into the mirror cam and watched as two of the droid fighters exploded. He smiled despite himself and heard Anakin whoop over the comm headset. Their elation was short-lived, though, as a sudden blast rocked Obi-Wan’s interceptor. He felt his eyes go round and listened as Arfour beeped to inform him that laser flak from a Trade Federation battleship had struck them.

“Fix the damage, Arfour. We need to keep going,” Obi-Wan commanded. 

“You sure you don’t want to go after those bigger ships, Master?” Anakin demanded, and Obi-Wan scowled.

“Home in on the Jedi who have already landed, Anakin. We need to get onto the surface of Geonosis. Now.”

A few neat dodges and scraps of luck later, Obi-Wan and Anakin’s ships were descending through Geonosis’ dusty skies and rocketing toward the ground. Below them, Obi-Wan could see a phalanx of grey meeting a phalanx of brown. The great disposable armies seemed to have found one another. Obi-Wan and Anakin landed on an open patch of dust, each leaping from his cockpit with a lightsaber in hand.

The next few hours were a blur. Obi-Wan battled almost to exhaustion against the droid troops on the ground. The problem was that there seemed to be no end to the droids. They just kept coming, no matter how quickly Obi-Wan and Anakin sliced at their metal bodies. The Jedi spent hours parrying blaster bolts and hacking at the droids. They were slow and didn’t seem to give much fight when confronted with a close-range lightsaber. It didn’t matter. They just kept coming.

After a great long while, a voice inside of Obi-Wan’s headset said gravely,

“Regroup, we must. General Kenobi, with young Skywalker to Coruscant you will return at once. Retreat, you will, to your interceptors.”

“Well, if you insist, Master Yoda. And we were just beginning to have fun here,” Obi-Wan said rather sarcastically. He held his lightsaber up before him at an angle as yet another blaster bolt rocketed through the air. He successfully blocked the bolt, glancing to where Anakin was slashing his own lightsaber in a horizontal line. Three droids emitting bloops of alarm, and Anakin’s weapon sliced through them like butter. The droids collapsed into a heap, and Obi-Wan yelled,

“Let’s go, Anakin.”

“Just a few more, Master; I can -”

“ _ Let’s go, Anakin! _ ” Obi-Wan was disturbed by Anakin’s defiance today. He sensed another blaster bolt off to his right, and he raised his lightsaber to block it as he kept staring at Anakin. His Padawan growled with frustration but turned to dash back to his own interceptor. Obi-Wan climbed into his own ship and said, “Arfour, let’s get back to those hyperdrive rings as quickly as possible. Assuming they haven’t been blown to bits by the droid fighters, of course.”

“There’s more we could have done,” Anakin said over the comm headset, once their ships had made the jump to hyperspace. Obi-Wan turned his lips down and shook his head.

“If you want to see value in endless direct combat against an inexhaustible supply of droid troops, that is your prerogative, Anakin. Master Yoda could see that there was no end in sight to that battle. We’re going back to make a better plan.”

Obi-Wan rolled his shoulder, feeling a crack as he did. He’d taken a hard fall onto a boulder after being nearly overwhelmed by five droid troopers. His shoulder had been dislocated and a few bones had splintered, but Obi-Wan had managed to mostly heal himself during the battle using the Force. Now, inside his interceptor, his shoulder ached deeply in a way he knew would take old-fashioned time to heal.

  
  


“Obi-Wan!” Padmé rose from the table where she’d been staring at a plate of food. She’d had no appetite, feeling far too nervous at the thought of what was happening on Geonosis. Reports of the battle had come to her via holographic meeting with Master Windu. There had been a few dozen Jedi killed, she’d been told, though Obi-Wan and Anakin had survived. The abilities and size of the droid army had been shocking, and there had been a swarm of ships in the space above Geonosis. It had been a bit of a mess, Padmé had been told. More importantly, it was very clear now that the war had begun.

Padmé turned her face to Dormé as Obi-Wan stepped into the room, noting her handmaiden’s look of surprise at how Padmé had greeted the Jedi. Padmé couldn’t care just now whether Dormé knew about them. She said delicately, “Dormé, you can go for the evening. I’d like to speak privately with General Kenobi.”

“Of course, Senator.” Dormé nodded and gave a little bow before sliding out of the door through which Obi-Wan had just come. Once they were alone, Padmé embraced Obi-Wan. She breathed in deeply, smelling sweat and dirt on him, and she knew he’d come straight to her after arriving from Geonosis. She didn’t need to go on about how glad she was to see him alive. He could tell, she knew, by how tightly she’d wrapped her arms around him. He grunted quietly, and Padmé thought perhaps she’d hurt him.

“Are you all right?” she asked carefully, pulling back and watching as Obi-Wan curled his left hand around his right shoulder. He frowned and muttered,

“Who’d have known the most dangerous thing on Geonosis today would be a boulder?”

Padmé scoffed. “Boulders can be positively lethal. Would you like me to send for some bacta strips?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “This is as good as it’s going to get for right now. It’ll ache for a few days. It’s nothing.”

His blue eyes darkened a bit as he stared down at Padmé. “It is worse, I’m afraid, than we could have anticipated. The droid army is already massive, and there are foundries all over the galaxy to keep producing more. They fall easily, but their supply is endless. This war will not be easy.”

“But it will be necessary,” Padmé said, blinking back tears as she shook her head with dismay. “All of my efforts to preserve peace were for nothing.”

“Preserving peace is an especially difficult task when faced with an enemy who so adores conflict. There is nothing you could have done.”

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, and it was then that Padmé noticed his skin was caked with dried blood. She gasped and pulled Obi-Wan’s hand from his hair, and he winced. Padmé studied him, seeing that there were no open wounds on his skin. She raised her eyes to him, and he said in a bit of an embarrassed tone,

“It’s left over from where I fell. May I wash my uniform in your sonic washer?”

“You may,” Padmé nodded. “And you should take a very long, very hot shower. You’ve earned it, General Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan wrapped his blood-caked fingers around Padmé’s, bringing her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and closed his eyes.

“How did Anakin do?” Padmé asked with genuine curiosity, and Obi-Wan’s lips curled up a bit. He kissed Padmé’s knuckles again and said,

“He was very competent with his ship and his lightsaber, and he was full of ideas that contradicted orders. So, it was very much an ordinary day for Anakin Skywalker.”

Padmé smiled and pulled at Obi-Wan’s hand. They walked to Padmé’s sleek, luxurious ‘fresher, where she helped him peel off his filthy tunics and leggings. She moved to put the clothes into the sonic washer. She popped in a detergent pod and shut the washer lid, pushing the button to activate it. When she turned around, Obi-Wan was stepping naked into her shower and fretting a bit over the controls. He pushed a button, and a harsh jet of frigid water shot from the wall straight at his stomach. Obi-Wan yelped and staggered away from the jet, pressing the same button as before to shut it off. He whirled over his shoulder and scowled at Padmé, who giggled at the sight.

“I promise you I’ve just come back from successfully piloting a starfighter and evading countless blaster bolts in battle,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. “Explain this shower’s ludicrous control panel to me, will you, Senator?”

Padmé grinned, jerking her chin toward the screen on the wall. “Temperature select… no, to the left. Yes. There. Then the number of jets and the desired intensi - no, no. To the right. Up. Yes. There.”

Obi-Wan was laughing now, too, at Padmé’s complicated instructions. He finally put one hand against the glass wall and raised one eyebrow.

“Why don’t you just come in here yourself and help me?” he asked suggestively. Padmé felt an instant flush of desire at that suggestion. She smirked as she yanked her crimson dress up over her head. She was more slow and deliberate in removing her undergarments. As she stepped naked toward the shower, she could see heat in Obi-Wan’s eyes. His fingers tightened against the glass, and he said in a bit of a husky tone,

“Suddenly I find myself downright grateful for overcomplicated shower controls,” he admitted. He was very hard, Padmé could see, and she curled her fingers around his rigid length as she stepped into the shower with him. He hissed a bit and whispered, “Go on, then.”

“With the shower or with  _ this _ ?” Padmé teased at his cock, sliding her fingertips up and down the shaft. Obi-Wan groaned and shifted on his feet.

“Both.”

Padmé kept her right hand on his manhood and turned her eyes to the control panel on the wall. Her left fingers were deft and practiced on the screen. She selected an overhead rain flow, hot but not scalding, and she pushed the green activation button. Suddenly there was a cascade of water from the ceiling, and Padmé stepped toward Obi-Wan as she touched him more insistently. She watched as his red-gold hair was soaked, as it clumped around his face. His erection twitched a bit in her hand, and she was breathless all of a sudden.

“Were you very brave on Geonosis, General Kenobi?” she whispered, and his eyes flashed.

“Only as brave as the circumstances required me to be, Senator,” he insisted. His own fingers reached between them, delving carefully between Padmé’s legs. She sighed as he pulsed his fingertips against her, and she was shocked when he murmured, “Difficult to tell if it’s the shower water or something else making my fingers wet just now.”

“Obi-Wan!” Padmé grinned at his surprisingly lewd words. 

“It has been a very long day, Padmé,” he said, his face going a bit serious. “I am finding it difficult to relax after all the chaos. Will you help me?”

It was definitely not the shower water making his fingers wet then. Padmé nodded and reached her hands toward the wall. She pushed a button on the dispenser, and foam cleanser hissed into her trembling palms. She reached up and spread the foam into Obi-Wan’s hair, hearing his breath hitch as she rubbed it against his scalp. He rinsed the cleanser from his hair, and Padmé spread a bit of conditioning oil through his tangled locks before starting to wash his body. She washed her own hair and skin, amused at how Obi-Wan’s eyes studied her as she did. He never took his fingers from her, and as she washed her own breasts and arms, his touch grew more urgent. Before Padmé knew what was happening, they were both clean and rinsed and twisting two fingers into her.

Padmé cried out at the feel of it, reaching desperately for his shoulders. He winced and grunted, and Padmé realized she’d gripped the place where he’d hurt himself on Geonosis. She yanked her hand away and muttered a clumsy apology. Obi-Wan responded by urging her back against the white shower wall. Padmé gasped when her back hit the cold tile, pressing her palms to the wall to try and steady herself. Obi-Wan’s hand was continuing to stroke and twist and pulse, and Padmé’s ears had begun to ring. Her skin tingled and her whole body was on fire for him. 

He crushed her mouth with a fierce kiss, and Padmé realized she had never felt such urgency from him before. Perhaps the day of battle really had driven him to another place mentally. Padmé didn’t mind. She moaned against his mouth as she came, her walls clenching hard around his fingers as water dripped from his hair onto her skin.

She sank to her knees, very much on instinct, once her climax had passed. Obi-Wan frowned down at her, taking her head in his hands and asking breathlessly,

“What are you doing?”

Padmé wrapped her fingers around him, positioning herself under the warm water and not minding the hard tile beneath her knees. She stared at his cock, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sight of it. She raised her eyes, blinking through the stream of water, and saw that Obi-Wan had put one hand against the wall and was leaning a bit as though he thought his knees would give out. He shook his head and panted,

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you… on the floor if it’s…”

His words trailed off as Padmé pumped her hand on him, and his eyes closed as his throat bobbed. Then Padmé decided she definitely  _ did _ want to do this, and she drummed up some false confidence. She nodded to steady herself, and she put her lips around him.

He didn’t taste like much here, not after being washed. She could feel the way he throbbed, and the bumpy veins along his length were more obvious inside her mouth. Padmé pushed her head forward, trying not to gag as his tip hit the back of her throat. Obi-Wan groaned loudly, the fingers of his right hand snaring in Padmé’s wet hair. His voice echoed off the tiles, and Padmé smiled to herself. He liked this, and that made her very happy.

She pulled her head back, bringing her hand with her, and then pushed forward again. She tried to pretend her mouth was her womanhood, directing her motions as though her lips were making love to him. It seemed to work, because after a moment, Obi-Wan bucked his hips forward wildly. Padmé did gag then, wrenching her mouth from him and spluttering.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan shook his head and sounded almost as if he were in pain. His hand smacked the tile wall a bit, and he let out a shaky sigh. His blue eyes were glazed with want as Padmé smirked up at him, and she murmured,

“Does it feel good?”

He nodded, his lips open as he pulled his wet hair from his face. “Almost too good,” he admitted, tipping his head and then reaching down to cup Padmé’s face. “Stop when I tell you… it would taste absolutely vile.”

Padmé believed him, but she wanted very badly to bring him to that point. She kept her eyes on him as she brought her mouth back to his length. Her own body came back to life, and she was wet between her legs again as she pleasured him. She brought Obi-Wan’s as far into her mouth as she could manage and then made swallowing motions with her throat, as though she were trying to drink him in. That seemed to drive Obi-Wan over the edge, and his hand smacked at the tile wall again as his face twisted.

“St-stop, Padmé,” he groaned, rolling his hips backward gently. “It’s too… too much. Just… oh,  _ kriff!” _

Padmé pulled her lips from him just in time. She still held onto him, pulsing her hand along his length and watching as he came. His face contorted into an expression that seemed very much like pain, though Padmé knew it was pleasure. Creamy jets of fluid burst forth from the tip of his manhood, mingling with the water on the floor of the shower before disappearing down the drain. After a moment, Obi-Wan smiled down at her, panting as he recovered. Padmé started to stand, only now realizing how badly her knees ached. She felt Obi-Wan’s hands on her ribs, helping her up. He leaned back against the wall, cradling Padmé in his arms and kissing her wet hair.

“Do you know… as I was flying back from Geonosis, dirty and wounded and exhausted… all I wanted was this? All I wanted was you.” Obi-Wan’s voice sounded tired and warm, and Padmé kissed the wet skin of his chest as she absorbed what he’d said. His hands were on her cheeks then, pulling her back enough to look up at him. She studied his blue eyes, seeing the desperate need in them for sleep, and she whispered,

“You can have me in your arms… but why don’t we move this to my bed? I think a good night’s sleep would do you well, General Kenobi.”

She reached around him and shut off the shower. They stood there until the air was too cold, until Padmé had begun to shiver, and finally she pulled away from Obi-Wan. She laced her fingers through his and pushed open the shower door. She turned around when he pulled her back, and she looked up at him with concern. He frowned deeply. 

“I love you, Padmé,” he mused, sounding surprised by his own words. He shook his head, licking his bottom lip before adding, “I had no idea at all that it was possible to love to completely. It is more frightening than battle. That’s for certain.”

“Don’t be afraid of me, please,” Padmé said, pushing his wet hair from his eyes. “Just take me to bed and hold me.”

  
  


War did strange things to tradition.

Anakin Skywalker knew that his master Obi-Wan had never formally completed the Jedi Trials. He had been made a Jedi Knight because he’d slain a Sith. Anakin never completed the trials, either. He was about to be made a Jedi Knight because the war effort demanded it. Only Jedi Knights could be generals, and Anakin Skywalker would make a very good general. That was what the Jedi High Council had decided.

After the Battle of Praesitlyn, Anakin had been notified by Master Windu that he would be made a Knight immediately. He spent a full day and night meditating in the sacred Tranquility Spire of the Jedi Temple. He had seen strange visions - just little wisps of the future. A shining black mask and a red lightsaber blade crashing against a blue one. A woman’s voice screaming in terror. The crackling sound of a comm headset giving out as a ship crashed onto a dusty planet. The low rumble of laughter against a relentless sheet of rain.

When Anakin emerged from the Tranquility Spire, he found himself in a better mood than he remembered experiencing in quite some time. He would not be getting this Knighthood without the explicit recommendation of Obi-Wan Kenobi. For that reason, Anakin found himself willing to temporarily overlook Obi-Wan’s affair with Padmé Amidala.

The Hall of Knighthood was more brightly lit than Anakin would have expected for such a legendary place. When he walked into the room, he found the entire Jedi High Council standing in a circle around the perimeter. In the center of the room stood Obi-Wan Kenobi, his face lowered to the ground and his brown hood pulled up. Anakin frowned, feeling confused by the way the room seemed centered around Obi-Wan. But he said nothing as he moved to the center of the room, waiting quietly as he’d been instructed to do.

There was a sudden and simultaneous flash around the circle then, as the members of the Jedi High Council illuminated their lightsabers. Green and blue blades were raised, and Anakin watched as Grand Master Yoda hopped down from his stool and walked across the floor.

“Kneel you will, the both of you,” Yoda said. Anakin frowned again, flicking his eyes to the side as Obi-Wan Kenobi knelt. Anakin fell to his knees, pulling his hood down and raising his eyes to Grand Master Yoda, who said, “Bow your head you will, young Skywalker.”

Anakin did as the Grand Master commanded. There was a silence that felt long and heavy, and then Yoda said firmly,

“By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, a Knight of the Jedi I dub you now.”

Anakin didn’t flinch as Yoda’s green lightsaber blade came down beside his head. He soaked in the warm glow of the weapon, feeling flush with elation. Yoda quickly yanked his lightsaber up, and Anakin felt his Padawan braid give way. It fell to the floor, and Anakin thought to himself,  _ Good riddance. _

Anakin wondered what he was supposed to do for a moment, but then he watched as Yoda took a few steps and positioned himself in front of the kneeling Obi-Wan. Yoda held his lightsaber vertically before him and said,

“Obi-Wan Kenobi… by the will of the Force, to the Jedi High Council, you we bid welcome.”

Obi-Wan nodded and murmured a quiet thank-you. Anakin felt his eyebrows fly up and his mouth drop open. Obi-Wan was on the Council now? So that was why he’d been in the center of the circle.

“Rise to your feet, taking on your new roles, the two of you will do now,” Yoda pronounced, and Anakin pulled himself from his knees. He watched as the other Jedi Council members shut off their lightsabers. Obi-Wan walked from the center of the circle to a gap in the ring of Council members and took his place. Anakin marveled for a moment at the dual elevation in rank that had just taken place. 

“One night of relaxation and celebration you will take, Jedi Knight Skywalker,” Yoda said shrewdly, “For tomorrow, leave again you will. Wait, the war does not.”

 

“Congratulations, Ani.” Padmé gave him the warmest smile she could as she stepped into Anakin’s apartments. She had agreed to meet Obi-Wan and Anakin here for a brief celebration of both men’s rise in rank. It was important, Obi-Wan had said, for Anakin to be made to feel that his new rank was notable.

“Thank you, Senator,” Anakin said carefully. He looked her up and down, which made Padmé feel self-conscious, but he stepped back from his door and gestured for Padmé to come inside. She gave him an exaggerated look of chastisement and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t call me ‘ _ Senator _ ’, please, Ani,” she insisted. “Not when you and Obi-Wan are due to leave tomorrow on yet another campaign.”

“And what will you do while we’re gone?” Anakin asked, pushing a button to shut the door. “Will you stay trapped here on Coruscant?”

“Well, Chancellor Palpatine doesn’t want me to go, but I mean to pursue a diplomatic solution to the hyperspace channel crisis,” Padmé informed Anakin. He furrowed his brows and said,

“Don’t you think you should be escorted if you’re going to be meeting with the enemy?”

“Diplomacy requires delicate control over demeanor and connotation, Anakin,” Padmé said, shaking her head. “The presence of lightsabers will not help peace talks with the Hutts; it will only make them dig in their heels.”

“Or it would, if Hutts had heels to dig in.” 

Padmé turned at the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice. He was walking into Anakin’s apartments, a glass bottle clutched in each of his hands. Anakin’s voice was friendly as he said,

“Well, if it isn’t the newest member of the Jedi High Council.”

Obi-Wan set the glass bottles down on the table in the middle of the room and walked to Anakin. He clapped his hand on Anakin’s back and gave his former Padawan a little smile before noting,

“If only our respective promotions were not the result of unprecedented war. Ah, well. Beggars and choosers and all that.”

He turned to Padmé, and she watched as his eyes flicked up and down her form. His expression flared briefly to one of hunger. Padmé flashed him a crooked grin, amused by how much he liked the sight of her. She had tried hard not to be overdone tonight, but she had still managed to make herself look decent. She wore a floor-length gown that hugged her body before flaring out a bit at her knees. It was crafted of soft, sheer material in a nude shade. The sleeveless, high-necked bodice was elaborately decorated with vibrant gold embellishments, which continued over Padmé’s hips and onto the sheer skirts. Her ST-unit cosmetic droid had braided her hair in a fishtail plait that wound its way diagonally around her head, ending in a tight bun below her right ear. Her face was lightly painted with makeup, and Jorallan pearls dangled from her ears.

Obi-Wan visibly hesitated as he looked at Padmé. Then, seeming to decide it wasn’t worth pretending anymore, he asked in a soft voice,

“However do you manage it, Senator? Looking more lovely every single time I see you?”

Padmé rolled her eyes. “I’m a woman of many talents, General Kenobi.”

Anakin looked very uncomfortable beside Obi-Wan, and Padmé decided to deflect the conversation away from her looks. She pointed to the glass bottles Obi-Wan had set on the table and said, “Corellian rum? Shesharilian vodka? Stars… you did come prepared, didn’t you?”

Obi-Wan curled up his mouth mischievously as he watched Anakin move to the table and study the bottles. Anakin quirked up an eyebrow and said accusingly,

“You so very rarely allowed me to get drunk as a Padawan, Master.”

“Well, a Padawan you are no longer,” Obi-Wan said matter-of-factly. “You’ve got juice in your conservator, I assume?”

Anakin smiled and nodded. He gestured to the conservator in the little kitchen area. “There’s ghibli juice in there.”

As the men prepared drinks, Padmé fiddled with the radio panel on the wall until she found a station broadcasting good instrumental music. She turned the volume low enough to allow for conversation, and she walked with Obi-Wan and Anakin into the sitting area. The three of them sipped drinks of rum, vodka, and ghibli juice for well over an hour, just talking. Padmé found after a few minutes that Anakin Skywalker was rather charming and pleasant when he’d decided to be. The two Jedi joked about battle droids, imitating their voices and their movements. They teased one another about their shortcomings in battle. For once, the inherent tension of wartime gave way to an easy relaxation. It would be brief, Padmé knew, but it was very important for all of their sanity. 

“Did you hear that one battle droid to the others when you’d just taken down five of them at once?” Obi-Wan laughed as he shook his head, and Anakin grinned as he imitated the tinny sound of the droids speaking.

“ _ Uhhh… it isn’t very fun to fight them when they’re this efficient. _ ”

“And what of the  _ good _ droids?” Padmé asked over the men’s laughter. She took a sip of her sweet drink, blinking through the dizziness that was coming on. “Did Artoo do well for you in battle?”

“He’s excellent,” Anakin said, raising his glass. “I might have to keep him.”

“If you think he’s necessary for your war effort, Anakin, by all means take him with you,” Padmé said. She sipped again at her drink and gave a sarcastic shrug. “I’ve got my ST unit to do my hair and makeup, so I’m all set, I suppose.”

Obi-Wan snorted with laughter at that. His voice was slurred as he shook his head and said firmly, “You don’t need a droid to make you pretty, Padmé. You know that. Isn’t she beautiful all on her own, Anakin?”

Padmé’s eyes went wide. She was shocked at Obi-Wan’s boldness. It seemed Anakin was, as well. His cheeks colored a bit at Obi-Wan’s question, and he squared his jaw. He spoke into his glass of liquor as he murmured,

“Very beautiful, Master.”

Padmé suddenly sensed the effortless joy from earlier evaporating from the room. She set her glass down and rose, moving toward Obi-Wan and meaning to confiscate his drink. It was obvious he’d had more than enough. But as Padmé walked, her drunken feet stumbled over the long hem over her gown, and she tripped. She flailed her arms outward, distantly prepared to break her own fall. She was surprised to feel strong hands grasping her forearms, pulling her up to stand, and she raised her eyes to see Anakin Skywalker above her. He had flown to his feet and caught Padmé, and she wondered whether he’d sensed her tripping before she’d actually done it. She studied his face, not much minding that his hands were still clamped around her arms. She was too tipsy to look away, for he was very interesting just now. His eyes were blue, Padmé realized. Not quite so blue as Obi-Wan’s, but still vibrant. They glittered a bit as Anakin breathed through clenched teeth, and Padmé felt his fingers tighten around her before he asked,

“Can you stand, Padmé?”

Padmé blinked quickly a few times, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. She nodded, and Anakin released her arms. Padmé turned her face to see that Obi-Wan, too, had risen from his chair. He seemed much more sober now than he’d been before, and Padmé wondered whether he’d erased the alcohol from his veins using the Force. He put a hand between Padmé’s shoulders rather protectively, and he looked downright ashamed of himself as he murmured,

“Right. Too much for all of us, probably. Padmé, I’ll take you back to your rooms.”

“I’m fine. I can… I can walk on my own.” Padmé plopped herself down onto one of the chairs and reached beneath her skirts to yank at her tall golden shoes. She held one of the shoes up, knowing her words were blurry with drink as she insisted, “I just need… need to walk barefoot is all. Then I won’t fall.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan were both standing above her, and they exchanged a quick glance that spoke volumes. Anakin’s eyes seared into his former master, and his arms were crossed tightly over his dark tunic. Obi-Wan sighed deeply, and his face was rather sad. He held his hand out to Padmé and said in a gentle voice,

“Come with me, will you?”

Padmé frowned. Why was Obi-Wan bossing her around like this? She reached for her glass on the table beside her and swigged the remaining liquor and juice down. She made a face as she swallowed it, laughing as she noted,

“I think the last two of those were much stronger than the first two.”

“Padmé.” Obi-Wan’s voice was rather firm now, and Padmé scowled up at him. She felt a little pressure on her mind, something willing her to stand up and take Obi-Wan’s hand. She huffed and snarled impulsively,

“Get out of my head, General Kenobi!”

Anakin gave his master an alarmed look, and Obi-Wan’s cheeks went scarlet. He lowered his hand and took a moment to collect himself before he said to his former Padawan,

“Be sure she gets back to her rooms safely, Anakin. I’m off to sleep; we’ve a busy day tomorrow. Goodnight, Padmé.”

Padmé watched him leave, surprised by his abrupt exit. She blinked a few times, feeling the room sway around her, and she turned back to Anakin. She was very drunk now. The liquor was settling into her veins, into her head, and Padmé knew she should follow Obi-Wan’s lead and go to sleep. She put her head into her hand and mumbled,

“He’s right; I should just go to bed.”

“I’ll walk you back,” Anakin said. He reached for Padmé’s elbow and helped her up from the chair. Padmé hooked her two shoes over her right hand and linked her other arm with Anakin’s. She leaned on him more than she would have liked to do as they walked from his rooms, and she said with embarrassment,

“Liquor always hits me much harder than I mean for it to. I always get… so much more tipsy than I intend to get. I’m sorry, Ani.”

“Obi-Wan has a distinct advantage over you when it comes to drinking,” Anakin said smoothly, guiding Padmé down the corridor. “Jedi can sober ourselves up using the Force.”

“I know. Obi-Wan told me… one time he told me that he helped Qui-Gon Jinn get sober when… Oh, I don’t really remember the story.” Everything was spinning now, and Padmé paused her steps for a moment and shut her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Anakin asked, and Padmé nodded gravely. Once she found her balance, she walked again with Anakin. Soon enough they were in front of her apartment. It occurred to Padmé that Dormé was probably already asleep. Very much on instinct - and against the judgment her sober mind would have had - Padmé leaned up to touch Anakin’s cheek. She thought of the little boy on Tatooine, and she smiled at how he’d grown into a man.

“You’re a Jedi Knight, all right,” she slurred. “Thank you, Ani, for being such a valiant escort. Congratulations again.”

She turned to open her door, but Anakin’s hand on her arm prompted her to turn back. She blinked up at him, seeing the look of determination in his bright blue eyes. Then he did something very shocking. His hands clamped around Padmé’s shoulders, and he put his lips against hers. Padmé squealed, appalled by the action. She staggered back and hit the wall, and her hands flew to Anakin’s chest. She pushed at him, and he finally tore his lips from hers. 

Padmé reached up and smacked Anakin’s cheek as hard as she could, feeling her fingers and palm burn at once. Anakin’s cheek went crimson, and his eyes hardened, but he did not release Padmé’s shoulders. 

“Obi-Wan stormed out of my sitting room because you wouldn’t go with him,” Anakin noted, his voice gravelly. “If he loves you so much, Padmé, why would he abandon you?”

“Anakin, please just go.” Padmé pushed again at Anakin’s chest, suddenly frightened of him as his fingers cinched on her shoulders. She wouldn’t have had the strength to physically fight him off while sober, much less after far too much vodka and rum. She shut her eyes and whimpered a little, wishing that Anakin would just walk away.

“For ten years, I dreamed of you,” he was saying, and one of his hands moved to stroke Padmé’s cheek. She felt tears come to her eyes, for she was profoundly uncomfortable with Anakin’s touch and his words. She wrenched her eyes shut tightly and screamed inside her head.

_ Obi-Wan, please, please come here! _

“I dreamed for years about what it would taste like to kiss you.” Anakin’s breath was hot against her lips, and he smelled strongly of alcohol. Padmé felt him press his body against hers, and she was horrified to feel an insistent firmness against her abdomen. She pushed once more at his chest, but Anakin whispered in a tortured voice, “You taste so much better than anything I could have imagined.”

_ Ksshhh… _

“Step away from her, Anakin.  _ Now _ .”

Padmé’s eyes flew open to see Obi-Wan Kenobi standing behind Anakin. His lightsaber was out, glowing a vivid blue in the dim corridor. Anakin looked over his shoulder at his former master, and his hands released Padmé. But he did not step away, and Obi-Wan’s face contorted. Suddenly Anakin was thrown backward, and his feet stumbled as he careened against the opposite wall. He bent over at his waist, panting as something apparently happened inside his head. Obi-Wan spun his lightsaber slowly, adjusting his grip on his hilt as if prepared for a fight. When at last Anakin stood upright, Padmé could tell that something had changed.

He was suddenly sober, first of all. The glassy drunk look in his eyes had given way to a dry clarity. Anakin’s mouth fell open as he looked from Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to Padmé and back. His mouth twitched, and he stared at his boots as he mumbled,

“My sincere apologies, Senator. I let the drink come over me and I… well… I’m sorry. Goodnight.”

He moved to walk past Obi-Wan, but the older man held his hand up to Anakin’s chest to make him pause. Obi-Wan stared at Padmé, but he directed his words to Anakin. His tone was frightening.

“Come anywhere near her again, Anakin…  _ ever _ … and my response will not be nearly so diplomatic. Go.”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin’s voice was empty, for the honorific held no real meaning anymore. He stalked away, and Obi-Wan’s hand dropped to his side. His eyes looked afraid then, and Padmé knew why. Even in her drunkenness, she knew why he was afraid. It wasn’t just that he’d feared what Anakin would do to her. He was afraid, she could see, of how he’d reacted. He’d pulled a lightsaber on his former student. He’d been deeply possessive of Padmé. All of this, Padmé knew, was very frightening for Obi-Wan Kenobi. He shut off his lightsaber and tucked the hilt into his utility belt, and he closed the distance between himself and Padmé.

“Are you all right?” Obi-Wan asked, and Padmé nodded up at him. She was alarmed by the way his breath heaved through his shaking lips, by the pain she could read in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure she’d feel so fine in the morning.

“He was right about one thing, at least,” Obi-Wan murmured, shaking his head as he pressed the button to open her door, “I should never have left you alone with him.”

Obi-Wan put a hand to the small of her back and guided her into her apartments. Padmé shrugged as they reached her bedroom. “How could you have possibly known that he would do something like… like  _ that _ ?”

Obi-Wan’s fingers fumbled at the nape of Padmé’s neck to unzip her gown, and Padmé stepped out of it. Obi-Wan’s voice was frustrated as he moved to her wardrobe and yanked out a plain nightdress.

“I have sensed a growing darkness inside of him. I should never have trusted him alone with you. I let myself get emotional earlier, and I… this is all my fault.”

Padmé was clumsy as she yanked on the white nightgown. When her head popped out of the garment, she swayed on her feet and reached for Obi-Wan’s arms to support herself. He guided her toward her bed, and she murmured,

“None of this is your fault. I love you  _ so much _ . You have to know that. Promise me that when you come back from -”

“Oh, no. I’m not leaving you now,” Obi-Wan interrupted her. She was dizzy as he pulled her blankets up around her and urged her head onto her pillow. “I was tasked with keeping you safe, Padmé, and that is what I mean to do. I’ll be going with you to negotiate with the Hutts about the hyperspace lanes.”

Padmé shook her head, letting her eyes fall shut. “You’re supposed to go with Anakin to track the -”

“I’m going with you to negotiate with the Hutts about the hyperspace lanes.” Obi-Wan repeated. His voice was slow and steady then, as if he were willing that reality into being. Perhaps he was doing that. Padmé had no idea what he could really do. She opened her eyes and saw that he was kneeling beside her bed.

“It was a bad idea to get Anakin drunk,” she noted, but Obi-Wan shook his head and stared at a loose thread on Padmé’s blanket.

“On the contrary, I think it revealed even more of the darkness that I knew already to be within him. I am certainly losing him, Padmé. I will not lose you, too.”

He leaned his head onto his hand, and his breath shook fiercely as Padmé reached to stroke his cheek. It was mildly terrifying to see him coming unhinged, and she felt guilty that it was all over her. She moved his face so that he would look at her, and she nearly cried at the sight of his sorrowful eyes.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered unsteadily. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Will you hold me?” Padmé asked, feeling sleep washing over her. She wondered distantly whether Obi-Wan was making her fall asleep, but she couldn’t muster the strength to fight him on it. She managed to pat the blanket beside her, and the words were thick on her tongue as she said again, “Lie next to me and hold me, will you?”

“I’m going to stay right here. Just rest.” His fingers laced through hers, and he did not move from where he knelt beside the bed. 

As Padmé slipped into the ether of sleep, she could once again feel the horrid sensation of Anakin’s mouth on hers and his hands gripping her. She whimpered a bit, and the image was yanked almost violently from her mind. Obi-Wan had taken the image, she could tell. What he did with it, Padmé did not know. There was a heavy emptiness in her mind then that took a moment to settle. Then there was lightness - whirling, pivoting weightlessness. Then she could see herself and Obi-Wan aboard the shuttle from Kamino. He was kissing her against the wall, both of them naked, and he was whispering to her that he loved her.

It was a wonderful thing to remember as she dreamed. Padmé hummed happily in her sleep, wondering what exactly it had been to get her so upset earlier. She couldn’t remember now, and she no longer cared.

  
  


“Good morning.”

Obi-Wan eyed Padmé carefully from where he sat on the floor. He was leaning against the wall of Padmé’s bedroom, having spent most of the night alternating between calming meditation and careful alteration of Padmé’s memory. As she pushed herself up to her elbows, she touched her fingers to her forehead and murmured something about a hangover. Obi-Wan felt his chest clench as her eyes met his, and he wondered whether he had been successful.

“Why are you on the floor?” Padmé asked, quirking up half her mouth. Obi-Wan’s throat was dry as he answered,

“It did not seem right to put myself in your bed when you were so inebriated.”

Padmé scoffed, but her smile grew. She yawned and murmured, “You are an honorable man, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Yes, Obi-Wan realized at once. He had been successful. Padmé had no memory of what Anakin had done to her the night before. Under normal circumstances, Obi-Wan would not consider wiping Padmé’s memory. It was a risky and invasive thing to do. But he loved her, very deeply indeed, and he had found himself unable to accept her being traumatized. 

Of course, Obi-Wan would always remember the terrible sight of her pressed against the wall as Anakin touched her and whispered to her. He would never forget the way she’d begged Anakin to leave, the way she’d screamed for Obi-Wan in her mind. 

It had been an eye-opening revelation of the worst kind to witness the darkness that was consuming Anakin Skywalker. Jealousy and desire had swirled inside of Anakin and had revealed what he was capable of doing. Obi-Wan would probably never be able to forgive Anakin, and his view of the newly appointed Jedi Knight was forever tainted and scarred. But at the very least, the woman Obi-Wan loved would not have to deal with the memory of being assaulted. That was, perhaps, the only step Obi-Wan could take toward ameliorating his own sin of leaving her on her own when she was too drunk to walk properly.

“I’m going with you to negotiate with the Hutts about the hyperspace channels,” he said matter-of-factly, and Padmé looked confused for a moment. She sat up, arching her back to stretch a bit.

“I thought you and Anakin were going to Druckenwell to track down droid foundries?”

Obi-Wan gulped. He would not lie to her now, so he said simply, “General Jai Maruk is going with Anakin to Druckenwell. I just spoke with Master Yoda about it an hour ago. Druckenwell is General Maruk’s homeworld, so it’s no trouble. I will be escorting you to negotiations with the Hutts.”

Padmé frowned as she pulled herself from her bed, but she said lightly, “Well, if I have to have an armed guard, I’m glad it will be the one they call ‘The Negotiator.’” She moved toward her ‘fresher, and Obi-Wan pulled himself from the ground at last. As Padmé opened the door to the ‘fresher, she turned and looked right at Obi-Wan. For an instant, her face was so serious that Obi-Wan felt a spike of nausea. Then she murmured, “Something happened last night that you aren’t telling me.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth fell open, and he struggled to find words. He licked his bottom lip and prepared to speak, but Padmé said firmly,

“If you of all people think it necessary to omit something from my mind… I trust you. I don’t want to know. I’ll be quick getting ready; can you check that the shuttle will be ready to go within an hour or two?”

Then she slipped into the ‘fresher and shut the door behind her, leaving Obi-Wan breathless in her bedroom.

  
  



End file.
